•wO 


'•1         T*f    .*  A 

V  Atf 


I1  r 


"'IT'S    FREEDOM,    GIDEON. 


The  Strength 
of  G  I  D  E  O  N 

and  OTHER  STORIES 


By  PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

Author  of  "Lyrics  of  Lowly  Life,"  "Folks  from 
Dixie,"  "Poems  of  Cabin  and  Field,"  etc. 
With  illustrations  by  E.  W.  KEMBLE 


*$* 


New  York:  DODD,  MEAD 
fc?    COMPANY   «$"£   Mem. 


Copyright,  1899,  1900, 
By  PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR. 

Copyright,  1900, 
By  DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY. 


1700 


TO  MY  GOOD  FRIEND  AND  TEACHER 
CAPTAIN  CHARLES  B.  STIVERS 


972976 


CONTENTS 


STRENGTH  OF  GIDEON i 

MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE 25 

VINEY'S  FREE  PAPERS 51 

THE  FRUITFUL  SLEEPING  OF  THE  REV.  ELISHA 

EDWARDS 73 

THE  INGRATE 87 

THE  CASE  OF  'CA'LINE'  ....  105 
THE  FINISH  OF  PATSY  BARNES  .  .  .113 

ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES 129 

JIM'S  PROBATION     .        .  .        .        .163 

UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT  .  .  .177 
MR.  CORNELIUS  JOHNSON,  OFFICE-SEEKER  .  207 
AN  OLD-TIME  CHRISTMAS  ....  229 

A  MESS  OF  POTTAGE 239 

THE  TRUSTFULNESS  OF  POLLY  .  .  .255 
THE  TRAGEDY  AT  THREE  FORKS  .  .  .  267 

THE  FINDING  OF  ZACH 285 

JOHNSONHAM,  JUNIOR 295 

THE  FAITH  CURE  MAN 305 

A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE 315 

SILAS  JACKSON        .        .        .        •        .        .  339 


THE  STRENGTH 
OF  GIDEON 


THE  STRENGTH  OF  GIDEON 

OLD  MAM'  HENRY,  and  her  word  may  be  taken, 
said  that  it  was  "De  powerfulles* .  s,ehmont  she 
ever  had  hyeahd  in  all  huh  bo'u  days."  That 
was  saying  a  good  deal,  f or  the  old  Avpiiian  Jii;,d 
lived  many  years  on  the  Stone  place  and  had 
heard  many  sermons  from  preachers,  white  and 
black.  She  was  a  judge,  too. 

It  really  must  have  been  a  powerful  sermon  that 
Brother  Lucius  preached,  for  Aunt  Doshy  Scott 
had  fallen  in  a  trance  in  the  middle  of  the  aisle, 
while  "Merlatter  Mag,"  who  was  famed  all  over 
the  place  for  having  white  folk's  religion  and 
never  "waking  up,"  had  broken  through  her  re 
serve  and  shouted  all  over  the  camp  ground. 

Several  times  Cassie  had  shown  signs  of  giv 
ing  way,  but  because  she  was  frail  some  of  the 
solicitous  sisters  held  her  with  self-congratula 
tory  care,  relieving  each  other  now  and  then, 
that  each  might  have  a  turn  in  the  rejoicings. 
But  as  the  preacher  waded  out  deeper  and 
deeper  into  the  spiritual  stream,  Cassie's  efforts 
to  make  her  feelings  known  became  more  and 
3 


4  THE  STRENGTH  OF  GIDEON 

more  decided.  He  told  them  how  the  spears 
of  the  Midianites  had  "  clashed  upon  de  shiels  of 
de  Gideonites,  an'  aftah  while,  wid  de  powah  of 
de  Lawd  behin'  him,  de  man  Gideon  triumphed 
mightily,"  and  swaying  then  and  wailing  in  the 
dark  woods,  with  grim  branches  waving  in  the 
breath  of  their  own  excitement,  they  could  hear 
above  the  tumult  the  clamor  of  the  fight,  the 
clashing  of  the  spears,  and  the  ringing  of  the 
shields.  They  could  see  the  conqueror  coming 
home  in  triumph.  Then  when  he  cried,  "  A-who, 
I  say,  a-who  is  in  Gideon's  ahmy  to-day  ?  "  and 
the  wailing  chorus  took  up  the  note,  ' 'A-who!  " 
it  was  too  much  even  for  frail  Cassie,  and,  de 
serted  by  the  solicitous  sisters,  in  the  words 
of  Mam'  Henry,  "she  broke  a-loose,  and  faihly 
tuk  de  place." 

Gideon  had  certainly  triumphed,  and  when  a 
little  boy  baby  came  to  Cassie  two  or  three  days 
later,  she  named  him  Gideon  in  honor  of  the 
great  Hebrew  warrior  whose  story  had  so 
wrought  upon  her.  All  the  plantation  knew 
the  spiritual  significance  of  the  name,  and  from 
the  day  of  his  birth  the  child  was  as  one  set  apart 
to  a  holy  mission  on  earth. 

Say  what  you  will  of  the  influences  which  the 


THE  STRENGTH  OF  GIDEON  5 

circumstances  surrounding  birth  have  upon  a 
child,  upon  this  one  at  least  the  effect  was  un 
mistakable.  Even  as  a  baby  he  seemed  to  realize 
the  weight  of  responsibility  which  had  been  laid 
upon  his  little  black  shoulders,  and  there  was  a 
complacent  dignity  in  the  very  way  in  which  he 
drew  upon  the  sweets  of  his  dirty  sugar-teat 
when  the  maternal  breast  was  far  off  bending 
over  the  sheaves  of  the  field. 

He  was  a  child  early  destined  to  sacrifice  and 
self-effacement,  and  as  he  grew  older  and  other 
youngsters  came  to  fill  Cassie's  cabin,  he  took  up 
his  lot  with  the  meekness  of  an  infantile  Moses. 
Like  a  Moses  he  was,  too,  leading  his  little  flock 
to  the  promised  land,  when  he  grew  to  the  age 
at  which,  barefooted  and  one-shifted,  he  led  or 
carried  his  little  brothers  and  sisters  about  the 
quarters.  But  the  "promised  land"  never  took 
him  into  the  direction  of  the  stables,  where  the 
other  pickaninnies  worried  the  horses,  or  into 
the  region  of  the  hen-coops,  where  egg-sucking 
was  a  common  crime. 

No  boy  ever  rolled  or  tumbled  in  the  dirt  with 
a  heartier  glee  than  did  Gideon,  but  no  warrior, 
not  even  his  illustrious  prototype  himself,  ever 
kept  sterner  discipline  in  his  ranks  when  his  fol- 


6  THE  STRENGTH  OF  GIDEON 

lowers  seemed  prone  to  overstep  the  bounds 
of  right.  At  a  very  early  age  his  shrill  voice  could 
be  heard  calling  in  admonitory  tones,  caught 
from  his  mother's  very  lips,  "You  'Nelius,  don' 
you  let  me  ketch  you  th'owin'  at  ol'  mis'  guinea- 
hens  no  mo';  you  hyeah  me?"  or  "Hi'am,  you 
come  offen  de  top  er  dat  shed  'fo'  you  fall  an' 
brek  yo'  naik  all  to  pieces." 

It  was  a  common  sight  in  the  evening  to  see 
him  sitting  upon  the  low  rail  fence  which  ran  be 
fore  the  quarters,  his  shift  blowing  in  the  wind, 
and  his  black  legs  lean  and  bony  against  the 
whitewashed  rails,  as  he  swayed  to  and  fro, 
rocking  and  singing  one  of  his  numerous  broth 
ers  to  sleep,  and  always  his  song  was  of  war  and 
victory,  albeit  crooned  in  a  low,  soothing  voice. 
Sometimes  it  was  "Turn  Back  Pharaoh's  Army," 
at  others  "  Jinin'  Gideon's  Band."  The  latter  was 
a  favorite,  for  he  seemed  to  have  a  proprietary 
interest  in  it,  although,  despite  the  martial  in 
spiration  of  his  name,  "Gideon's  band"  to  him 
meant  an  aggregation  of  people  with  horns  and 
fiddles. 

Steve,  who  was  Cassie's  man,  declared  that  he 
had  never  seen  such  a  child,  and,  being  quite  as 
religious  as  Cassie  herself,  early  began  to  talk 


THE  STRENGTH  OF  GIDEON  7 

Scripture  and  religion  to  the  boy.  He  was  aided 
in  this  when  his  master,  Dudley  Stone,  a  man  of 
the  faith,  began  a  little  Sunday  class  for  the  reli 
giously  inclined  of  the  quarters,  where  the  old 
familiar  stories  were  told  in  simple  language  to 
the  slaves  and  explained.  At  these  meetings 
Gideon  became  a  shining  light.  No  one  listened 
more  eagerly  to  the  teacher's  words,  or  more 
readily  answered  his  questions  at  review.  No 
one  was  wider-mouthed  or  whiter-eyed.  His 
admonitions  to  his  family  now  took  on  a  differ 
ent  complexion,  and  he  could  be  heard  calling 
across  a  lot  to  a  mischievous  sister,  "  Bettah  tek 
keer  daih,  Lucy  Jane,  Gawd's  a-watchin'  you; 
bettah  tek  keer." 

The  appointed  man  is  always  marked,  and  so 
Gideon  was  by  always  receiving  his  full  name. 
No  one  ever  shortened  his  scriptural  appellation 
into  Gid.  He  was  always  Gideon  from  the  time 
he  bore  the  name  out  of  the  heat  of  camp-meet 
ing  fervor  until  his  master  discovered  his  worthi 
ness  and  filled  Cassie's  breast  with  pride  by  tak 
ing  him  into  the  house  to  learn  "mannahs  and 
'po'tment." 

As  a  house  servant  he  was  beyond  reproach, 
and  next  to  his  religion  his  Mas'  Dudley  and  Miss 


8  THE  STRENGTH  OF  GIDEON 

Ellen  claimed  his  devotion  and  fidelity.  The 
young  mistress  and  young  master  learned  to  de 
pend  fearlessly  upon  his  faithfulness. 

It  was  good  to  hear  old  Dudley  Stone  going 
through  the  house  in  a  mock  fury,  crying, 
"  Well,  I  never  saw  such  a  house;  it  seems  as  if 
there  isn't  a  soul  in  it  that  can  do  without 
Gideon.  Here  I've  got  him  up  here  to  wait  on 
me,  and  it's  Gideon  here  and  Gideon  there,  and 
every  time  I  turn  around  some  of  you  have 
sneaked  him  off.  Gideon,  come  here!"  And 
the  black  boy  smiled  and  came. 

But  all  his  days  were  not  days  devoted  to 
men's  service,  for  there  came  a  time  when  love 
claimed  him  for  her  own,  when  the  clouds  took 
on  a  new  color,  when  the  sough  of  the  wind 
was  music  in  his  ears,  and  he  saw  heaven  in 
Martha's  eyes.  It  all  came  about  in  this  way. 

Gideon  was  young  when  he  got  religion  and 
joined  the  church,  and  he  grew  up  strong  in  the 
faith.  Almost  by  the  time  he  had  become  a  val 
uable  house  servant  he  had  grown  to  be  an  in 
valuable  servant  of  the  Lord.  He  had  a  good, 
clear  voice  that  could  lead  a  hymn  out  of  all  the 
labyrinthian  wanderings  of  an  ignorant  congre 
gation,  even  when  he  had  to  improvise  both  words 


THE  STRENGTH  OF  GIDEON  9 

and  music;  and  he  was  a  mighty  man  of  prayer. 
It  was  thus  he  met  Martha.  Martha  was  brown 
and  buxom  and  comely,  and  her  rich  contralto 
voice  was  loud  and  high  on  the  sisters'  side  in 
meeting  time.  It  was  the  voices  that  did  it  at 
first.  There  was  no  hymn  or  "spiritual"  that 
Gideon  could  start  to  which  Martha  could  not 
sing  an  easy  blending  second,  and  never  did  she 
open  a  tune  that  Gideon  did  not  swing  into  it 
with  a  wonderfully  sweet,  flowing,  natural  bass. 
Often  he  did  not  know  the  piece,  but  that  did 
not  matter,  he  sang  anyway.  Perhaps  when 
they  were  out  he  would  go  to  her  and  ask,  "  Sis' 
Martha,  what  was  that  hymn  you  stahrted  to 
day?"  and  she  would  probably  answer,  "Oh, 
dat  was  jes'  one  o'  my  mammy's  ol'  songs." 

"Well,  it  sholy  was  mighty  pretty.  Indeed  it 
was." 

"Oh,  thanky,  Brothah  Gidjon,  thanky." 

Then  a  little  later  they  began  to  walk  back  to 
the  master's  house  together,  for  Martha,  too,  was 
one  of  the  favored  ones,  and  served,  not  in  the 
field,  but  in  the  big  house. 

The  old  women  looked  on  and  conversed  in 
whispers  about  the  pair,  for  they  were  wise,  and 
what  their  old  eyes  saw,  they  saw. 


io          THE  STRENGTH  OF  GIDEON 

"Oomph,"  said  Mam'  Henry,  for  she  com 
mented  on  everything,  "dem  too  is  jes'  natchelly 
singin'  demse'ves  togeddah." 

"Dey's  lak  de  mo'nin'  stahs,"  interjected  Aunt 
Sophy. 

"How 'bout  dat?"  sniffed  the  older  woman, 
for  she  objected  to  any  one's  alluding  to  subjects 
she  did  not  understand. 

"Why,  Mam'  Henry,  ain'  you  nevah  hyeahd 
tell  o'  de  mo'nin'  stahs  whut  sung  deyse'ves  to 
geddah  ?  " 

"No,  I  ain't,  an'  I  been  livin'  a  mighty  sight 
longah'n  you,  too.  I  knows  all  'bout  when  de 
stahs  fell,  but  dey  ain'  nevah  done  no  singin'  dat 
I  knows  'bout." 

"Do  heish,  Mam'  Henry,  you  sho'  su'prises 
me.  W'y,  dat  ain'  happenin's,  dat's  Scripter." 

"  Look  hyeah,  gal,  don't  you  tell  me  dat's 
Scripter,  an'  me  been  a-settin'  undah  de  Scripter 
fu'  nigh  onto  sixty  yeah." 

"Well,  Mam'  Henry,  I  may  'a'  been  mistook, 
but  sho'  I  took  hit  fu'  Scripter.  Mebbe  de 
preachah  I  hyeahd  was  jes'  inlinin'." 

"Well,  wheddah  hit's  Scripter  er  not,  dey's 
one  t'ing  su'tain,  I  tell  you,— dem  two  is  singin' 
deyse'ves  togeddah." 


THE  STRENGTH  OF  GIDEON  n 

"  Hit's  a  fac',  an'  I  believe  it." 

"An'  it's  a  mighty  good  thing,  too.  Brothah 
Gidjon  is  de  nicest  house  dahky  dat  I  ever  hyeahd 
tell  on.  Dey  jes'  de  same  diffunce  'twixt  him 
an'  de  othah  house-boys  as  dey  is  'tween  real 
quality  an'  strainers— he  got  mannahs,  but  he 
ain't  got  aihs." 

"  Heish,  ain't  you  right ! " 

"An'  while  de  res'  of  dem  ain'  thinkin'  'bout 
nothin'  but  dancin'  an'  ca'in'  on,  he  makin'  his 
peace,  callin',  an'  'lection  sho'." 

"I  tell  you,  Mam'  Henry,  dey  ain'  nothin'  like 
a  spichul  named  chile." 

"Humph!  g'long,  gal;  'tain't  in  de  name;  de 
biggest  devil  I  evah  knowed  was  named  Moses 
Aaron.  Tain't  in  de  name,  hit's  all  in  de  man 
hisse'f." 

But  notwithstanding  what  the  gossips  said  of 
him,  Gideon  went  on  his  way,  and  knew  not 
that  the  one  great  power  of  earth  had  taken  hold 
of  him  until  they  gave  the  great  party  down  in 
the  quarters,  and  he  saw  Martha  in  all  her  glory. 
Then  love  spoke  to  him  with  no  uncertain 
sound. 

It  was  a  dancing-party,  and  because  neither  he 
nor  Martha  dared  countenance  dancing,  they  had 


12  THE  STRENGTH  OF  GIDEON 

strolled  away  together  under  the  pines  that 
lined  the  white  road,  whiter  now  in  the  soft 
moonlight.  He  had  never  known  the  pine- 
cones  smell  so  sweet  before  in  all  his  life. 
She  had  never  known  just  how  the  moon 
light  flecked  the  road  before.  This  was  lovers' 
lane  to  them.  He  didn't  understand  why  his 
heart  kept  throbbing  so  furiously,  for  they  were 
walking  slowly,  and  when  a  shadow  thrown 
across  the  road  from  a  by-standing  bush  fright 
ened  her  into  pressing  close  up  to  him,  he  could 
not  have  told  why  his  arm  stole  round  her  waist 
and  drew  her  slim  form  up  to  him,  or  why  his 
lips  found  hers,  as  eye  looked  into  eye.  For 
their  simple  hearts  love's  mystery  was  too  deep, 
as  it  is  for  wiser  ones. 

Some  few  stammering  words  came  to  his  lips, 
and  she  answered  the  best  she  could.  Then 
why  did  the  moonlight  flood  them  so,  and  why 
were  the  heavens  so  full  of  stars  ?  Out  yonder 
in  the  black  hedge  a  mocking-bird  was  singing, 
and  he  was  translating — oh,  so  poorly— the  song 
of  their  hearts.  They  forgot  the  dance,  they  for 
got  all  but  their  love. 

"An'  you  won't  ma'y  nobody  else  but  me, 
Martha  ?  " 


THE  STRENGTH  OF  GIDEON  13 

"You  know  I  won't,  Gidjon." 

"  But  I  mus'  wait  de  yeah  out  ?  " 

"  Yes,  an'  den  don't  you  think  Mas'  Stone  '11  let 
us  have  a  little  cabin  of  ouah  own  jest  outside  de 
quahtahs  ?  " 

"  Won't  it  be  blessid  ?  Won't  it  be  blessid  ?  " 
he  cried,  and  then  the  kindly  moon  went  under  a 
cloud  for  a  moment  and  came  out  smiling,  for  he 
had  peeped  through  and  had  seen  what  passed. 
Then  they  walked  back  hand  in  hand  to  the 
dance  along  the  transfigured  road,  and  they 
found  that  the  first  part  of  the  festivities  were 
over,  and  all  the  people  had  sat  down  to  supper. 
Every  one  laughed  when  they  went  in.  Martha 
held  back  and  perspired  with  embarrassment. 
But  even  though  he  saw  some  of  the  older  heads 
whispering  in  a  corner,  Gideon  was  not  ashamed. 
A  new  light  was  in  his  eyes,  and  a  new  boldness 
had  come  to  him.  He  led  Martha  up  to  the  grin 
ning  group,  and  said  in  his  best  singing  voice, 
"Whut  you  laughin'  at?  Yes,  I's  popped  de 
question,  an'  she  says  'Yes,'  an'  long  'bout  a 
yeah  fom  now  you  kin  all  'spec'  a'  invitation." 
This  was  a  formal  announcement.  A  shout 
arose  from  the  happy-go-lucky  people,  who  sor 
rowed  alike  in  each  other's  sorrows,  and  joyed  in 


I4          THE  STRENGTH  OF  GIDEON 

each  other's  joys.  They  sat  down  at  a  table,  and 
their  health  was  drunk  in  cups  of  cider  and  per 
simmon  beer. 

Over  in  the  corner  Mam'  Henry  mumbled  over 
her  pipe,  "  Wha'd  I  tell  you  ?  wha'd  I  tell  you  ?  " 
and  Aunt  Sophy  replied,  "  Hit's  de  pa' able  of  de 
mo'nin'  stahs." 

"Don't  talk  to  me  'bout  no  mo'nin'  stahs,"  the 
mammy  snorted;  "Gawd  jes'  fitted  dey  voices 
togeddah,  an'  den  j'ined  dey  hea'ts.  De  mo'nin' 
stahs  ain't  got  nothin'  to  do  wid  it." 

"Mam'  Henry,"  said  Aunt  Sophy,  impress 
ively,  "you's  a'  oldah  ooman  den  I  is,  an'  I  ain' 
sputin'  hit;  but  I  say  dey  done  Tilled  Scripter 
'bout  de  mo'nin'  stahs;  dey's  done  sung deyse'ves 
togeddah." 

The  old  woman  sniffed. 

The  next  Sunday  at  meeting  some  one  got  the 
start  of  Gideon,  and  began  a  new  hymn.  It  ran : 

"  At  de  ma'ige  of  de  Lamb,  oh  Lawd, 

God  done  gin  His  'sent. 
Dey  dressed  de  Lamb  all  up  in  white, 

God  done  gin  His  'sent. 
Oh,  wasn't  dat  a  happy  day, 
Oh,  wasn't  dat  a  happy  day,  Good  Lawd, 
Oh,  wasn't  dat  a  happy  day, 

De  ma'ige  of  de  Lamb  ! " 


THE  STRENGTH  OF  GIDEON  15 

The  wailing  minor  of  the  beginning  broke  into 
a  joyous  chorus  at  the  end,  and  Gideon  wept  and 
laughed  in  turn,  for  it  was  his  wedding-song. 

The  young  man  had  a  confidential  chat  with 
his  master  the  next  morning,  and  the  happy 
secret  was  revealed. 

"What,  you  scamp!"  said  Dudley  Stone. 
"Why,  you've  got  even  more  sense  than  I  gave 
you  credit  for;  you've  picked  out  the  finest  girl 
on  the  plantation,  and  the  one  best  suited  to  you. 
You  couldn't  have  done  better  if  the  match  had 
been  made  for  you.  I  reckon  this  must  be  one  of 
the  marriages  that  are  made  in  heaven.  Marry 
her,  yes,  and  with  a  preacher.  I  don't  see  why 
you  want  to  wait  a  year." 

Gideon  told  him  his  hopes  of  a  near  cabin. 

"Better  still,"  his  master  went  on;  "  with  you 
two  joined  and  up  near  the  big  house,  Til  feel  as 
safe  for  the  folks  as  if  an  army  was  camped 
around,  and,  Gideon,  my  boy," — he  put  his  arms 
on  the  black  man's  shoulders, — "if  I  should  slip 
away  some  day " 

The  slave  looked  up,  startled. 

"I  mean  if  I  should  die — I'm  not  going  to  run 
off,  don't  be  alarmed — I  want  you  to  help  your 
young  Mas'  Dud  look  after  his  mother  and  Miss 


16          THE  STRENGTH  OF  GIDEON 

Ellen;  you  hear?  Now  that's  the  one  promise  I 
ask  of  you, — come  what  may,  look  after  the 
women  folks."  And  the  man  promised  and 
went  away  smiling. 

His  year  of  engagement,  the  happiest  time  of  a 
young  man's  life,  began  on  golden  wings. 
There  came  rumors  of  war,  and  the  wings  of  the 
glad-hued  year  drooped  sadly.  Sadly  they 
drooped,  and  seemed  to  fold,  when  one  day,  be 
tween  the  rumors  and  predictions  of  strife, 
Dudley  Stone,  the  old  master,  slipped  quietly 
away  out  into  the  unknown. 

There  were  wife,  daughter,  son,  and  faithful 
slaves  about  his  bed,  and  they  wept  for  him  sin 
cere  tears,  for  he  had  been  a  good  husband  and 
father  and  a  kind  master.  But  he  smiled,  and, 
conscious  to  the  last,  whispered  to  them  a  cheery 
good-bye.  Then,  turning  to  Gideon,  who  stood 
there  bowed  with  grief,  he  raised  one  weak 
finger,  and  his  lips  made  the  word,  "  Remem 
ber!" 

They  laid  him  where  they  had  laid  one  gener- 
tion  after  another  of  the  Stones  and  it  seemed  as  if 
a  pall  of  sorrow  had  fallen  upon  the  whole  place. 
Then,  still  grieving,  they  turned  their  long-dis 
tracted  attention  to  the  things  that  had  been  go- 


THE  STRENGTH  OF  GIDEON  17 

ing  on  around,  and  lo!  the  ominous  mutterings 
were  loud,  and  the  cloud  of  war  was  black  above 
them. 

It  was  on  an  April  morning  when  the  storm 
broke,  and  the  plantation,  master  and  man,  stood 
dumb  with  consternation,  for  they  had  hoped, 
they  had  believed,  it  would  pass.  And  now 
there  was  the  buzz  of  men  who  talked  in  secret 
corners.  There  were  hurried  saddlings  and 
feverish  rides  to  town.  Somewhere  in  the  quar 
ters  was  whispered  the  forbidden  word  "free 
dom,"  and  it  was  taken  up  and  dropped  breath 
lessly  from  the  ends  of  a  hundred  tongues. 
Some  of  the  older  ones  scouted  it,  but  from  some 
who  held  young  children  to  their  breasts  there 
were  deep-souled  prayers  in  the  dead  of  night. 
Over  the  meetings  in  the  woods  or  in  the  log 
church  a  strange  reserve  brooded,  and  even  the 
prayers  took  on  a  guarded  tone.  Even  from  the 
fulness  of  their  hearts,  which  longed  for  liberty, 
no  open  word  that  could  offend  the  mistress  or 
the  young  master  went  up  to  the  Almighty.  He 
might  know  their  hearts,  but  no  tongue  in  meet 
ing  gave  vent  to  what  was  in  them,  and  even 
Gideon  sang  no  more  of  the  gospel  army.  He 
was  sad  because  of  this  new  trouble  coming 


i8          THE  STRENGTH  OF  GIDEON 

hard  upon  the  heels  of  the  old,  and  Martha  was 
grieved  because  he  was. 

Finally  the  trips  into  town  budded  into  some 
thing,  and  on  a  memorable  evening  when  the 
sun  looked  peacefully  through  the  pines,  young 
Dudley  Stone  rode  into  the  yard  dressed  in  a 
suit  of  gray,  and  on  his  shoulders  were  the 
straps  of  office.  The  servants  gathered  around 
him  with  a  sort  of  awe  and  followed  him  until 
he  alighted  at  the  porch.  Only  Mam'  Henry, 
who  had  been  nurse  to  both  him  and  his  sister, 
dared  follow  him  in.  It  was  a  sad  scene  within, 
but  such  a  one  as  any  Southern  home  where 
there  were  sons  might  have  shown  that  awful 
year.  The  mother  tried  to  be  brave,  but  her  old 
hands  shook,  and  her  tears  fell  upon  her  son's 
brown  head,  tears  of  grief  at  parting,  but 
through  which  shone  the  fire  of  a  noble  pride. 
The  young  Ellen  hung  about  his  neck  with  sobs 
and  caresses. 

"  Would  you  have  me  stay  ?  "  he  asked  her. 

"No!  no!  I  know  where  your  place  is,  but  oh, 
my  brother!" 

"Ellen,"  said  the  mother  in  a  trembling  voice, 
"you  are  the  sister  of  a  soldier  now." 

The  girl  dried  her  tears  and  drew  herself  up. 


THE  STRENGTH  OF  GIDEON  19 

"  We  won't  burden  your  heart,  Dudley,  with  our 
tears,  but  we  will  weight  you  down  with  our 
love  and  prayers." 

It  was  not  so  easy  with  Mam'  Henry.  With 
out  protest,  she  took  him  to  her  bosom  and 
rocked  to  and  fro,  wailing  "My  baby!  my 
baby!"  and  the  tears  that  fell  from  the  young 
man's  eyes  upon  her  grey  old  head  cost  his  man 
hood  nothing. 

Gideon  was  behind  the  door  when  his  master 
called  him.  His  sleeve  was  traveling  down  from 
his  eyes  as  he  emerged. 

"Gideon,"  said  his  master,  pointing  to  his 
uniform,  "you  know  what  this  means  ?" 

"Yes,  suh." 

"I  wish  I  could  take  you  along  with  me. 
But " 

"Mas'  Dud,"  Gideon  threw  out  his  arms  in 
supplication. 

"You  remember  father's  charge  to  you,  take 
care  of  the  women-folks."  He  took  the  servant's 
hand,  and,  black  man  and  white,  they  looked 
into  each  other's  eyes,  and  the  compact  was 
made.  Then  Gideon  gulped  and  said  "Yes, 
suh  "  again. 

Another  boy  held  the  master's  horse  and  rode 


20          THE  STRENGTH  OF  GIDEON 

away  behind  him  when  he  vaulted  into  the 
saddle,  and  the  man  of  battle-song  and  warrior 
name  went  back  to  mind  the  women-folks. 

Then  began  the  disintegration  of  the  planta 
tion's  population.  First  Yellow  Bob  slipped 
away,  and  no  one  pursued  him.  A  few  blamed 
him,  but  they  soon  followed  as  the  year  rolled 
away.  More  were  missing  every  time  a  Union 
camp  lay  near,  and  great  tales  were  told  of  the 
chances  for  young  negroes  who  would  go  as 
body-servants  to  the  Yankee  officers.  Gideon 
heard  all  and  was  silent. 

Then  as  the  time  of  his  marriage  drew  near  he 
felt  a  greater  strength,  for  there  was  one  who 
would  be  with  him  to  help  him  keep  his  promise 
and  his  faith. 

The  spirit  of  freedom  had  grown  strong  in 
Martha  as  the  days  passed,  and  when  her  lover 
went  to  see  her  she  had  strange  things  to  say. 
Was  he  going  to  stay  ?  Was  he  going  to  be  a 
slave  when  freedom  and  a  livelihood  lay  right 
within  his  grasp  ?  Would  he  keep  her  a  slave  ? 
Yes,  he  would  do  it  all— all. 

She  asked  him  to  wait. 

Another  year  began,  and  one  day  they  brought 
Dudley  Stone  home  to  lay  beside  his  father. 


THE  STRENGTH  OF  GIDEON          21 

Then  most  of  the  remaining  negroes  went. 
There  was  no  master  now.  The  two  bereaved 
women  wept,  and  Gideon  forgot  that  he  wore 
the  garb  of  manhood  and  wept  with  them. 

Martha  came  to  him. 

"Gidjon,"  she  said,  "I's  waited  a  long  while 
now.  Mos'  eve'ybody  else  is  gone.  Ain't  you 
goin'  ?" 

"No." 

"But,  Gidjon,  I  wants  to  be  free.  I  know 
how  good  dey've  been  to  us;  but,  oh,  I  wants  to 
own  myse'f.  They're  talkin'  'bout  settin'  us  free 
every  hour." 

"I  can  wait." 

"They's  a  camp  right  near  here." 

"I  promised." 

"The  ofcers  wants  body-servants,  Gid 
jon " 

"Go,  Martha,  if  you  want  to,  but  I  stay." 

She  went  away  from  him,  but  she  or  some  one 
else  got  word  to  young  Captain  Jack  Griswold 
of  the  near  camp  that  there  was  an  excellent 
servant  on  the  plantation  who  only  needed  a 
little  persuading,  and  he  came  up  to  see  him. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said,  "  I  want  a  body-servant. 
I'll  give  you  ten  dollars  a  month." 


22          THE  STRENGTH  OF  GIDEON 

"I've  got  to  stay  here." 

"But,  you  fool,  what  have  you  to  gain  by 
staying  here  ?  " 

"I'm  goin'  to  stay." 

"Why,  you'll  be  free  in  a  little  while,  anyway." 

"All  right." 

"Of  all  fools,"  said  the  Captain.  "I'll  give 
you  fifteen  dollars." 

"I  do'  want  it." 

"Well,  your  girl's  going,  anyway.  I  don't 
blame  her  for  leaving  such  a  fool  as  you  are." 

Gideon  turned  and  looked  at  him. 

"The  camp  is  going  to  be  moved  up  on  this 
plantation,  and  there  will  be  a  requisition  for  this 
house  for  officers'  quarters,  so  I'll  see  you  again," 
and  Captain  Griswold  went  his  way. 

Martha  going!  Martha  going!  Gideon  could 
not  believe  it.  He  would  not.  He  saw  her,  and 
she  confirmed  it.  She  was  going  as  an  aid  to  the 
nurses.  He  gasped,  and  went  back  to  mind  the 
women-folks. 

They  did  move  the  camp  up  nearer,  and  Cap 
tain  Griswold  came  to  see  Gideon  again,  but  he 
could  get  no  word  from  him,  save  "  I'm  goin'  to 
stay,"  and  he  went  away  in  disgust,  entirely  un 
able  to  understand  such  obstinacy,  as  he  called  it. 


THE  STRENGTH  OF  GIDEON          23 

But  the  slave  had  his  moments  alone,  when  the 
agony  tore  at  his  breast  and  rended  him.  Should 
he  stay?  The  others  were  going.  He  would 
soon  be  free.  Every  one  had  said  so,  even  his 
mistress  one  day.  Then  Martha  was  going. 
"  Martha!  Martha! "  his  heart  called. 

The  day  came  when  the  soldiers  were  to  leave, 
and  he  went  out  sadly  to  watch  them  go.  All 
the  plantation,  that  had  been  white  with  tents, 
was  dark  again,  and  everywhere  were  moving, 
blue-coated  figures. 

Once  more  his  tempter  came  to  him.  "I'll 
make  it  twenty  dollars,"  he  said,  but  Gideon 
shook  his  head.  Then  they  started.  The  drums 
tapped.  Away  they  went,  the  flag  kissing  the 
breeze.  Martha  stole  up  to  say  good-bye  to  him. 
Her  eyes  were  overflowing,  and  she  clung  to 
him. 

"Come,  Gidjon,"  she  plead,  "fu'  my  sake. 
Oh,  my  God,  won't  you  come  with  us — it's 
freedom."  He  kissed  her,  but  shook  his  head. 

"Hunt  me  up  when  you  do  come,"  she  said, 
crying  bitterly,  "fu'  I  do  love  you,  Gidjon,  but  I 
must  go.  Out  yonder  is  freedom,"  and  she  was 
gone  with  them. 

He  drew  out  a  pace  after  the  troops,  and  then, 


24          THE  STRENGTH  OF  GIDEON 

turning,  looked  back  at  the  house.  He  went  a 
step  farther,  and  then  a  woman's  gentle  voice 
called  him,  ' '  Gideon ! "  He  stopped.  He  crushed 
his  cap  in  his  hands,  and  the  tears  came  into  his 
eyes.  Then  he  answered,  "Yes,  Mis'  Ellen,  I's 
a-comin'." 

He  stood  and  watched  the  dusty  column  until 
the  last  blue  leg  swung  out  of  sight  and  over  the 
grey  hills  the  last  drum-tap  died  away,  and  then 
turned  and  retraced  his  steps  toward  the  house. 

Gideon  had  triumphed  mightily. 


MAMMY 
PEGGY'S  PRIDE 


MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE 

IN  the  failing  light  of  the  midsummer  evening, 
two  women  sat  upon  the  broad  veranda  that 
ran  round  three  sides  of  the  old  Virginia  man 
sion.  One  was  young  and  slender  with  the 
slightness  of  delicate  girlhood.  The  other  was 
old,  black  and  ample, — a  typical  mammy  of  the 
old  south.  The  girl  was  talking  in  low,  subdued 
tones  touched  with  a  note  of  sadness  that  was 
strange  in  one  of  her  apparent  youth,  but  which 
seemed  as  if  somehow  in  consonance  with  her 
sombre  garments. 

"No,  no,  Peggy,"  she  was  saying,  "we  have 
done  the  best  we  could,  as  well  as  even  papa 
could  have  expected  of  us  if  he  had  been  here. 
It  was  of  no  use  to  keep  struggling  and  straining 
along,  trying  to  keep  the  old  place  from  going, 
out  of  a  sentiment,  which,  however  honest  it 
might  have  been,  was  neither  common  sense  nor 
practical.  Poor  people,  and  we  are  poor,  in 
spite  of  the  little  we  got  for  the  place,  cannot 
afford  to  have  feelings.  Of  course  I  hate  to  see 
strangers  take  possession  of  the  homestead,  and 
27 


28  MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE 

— and — papa's  and  mamma's  and  brother  Phil's 
graves  are  out  there  on  the  hillside.  It  is  hard, 
— hard,  but  what  was  I  to  do  ?  I  couldn't  plant 
and  hoe  and  plow,  and  you  couldn't,  so  I  am 
beaten,  beaten."  The  girl  threw  out  her  hands 
with  a  despairing  gesture  and  burst  into  tears. 

Mammy  Peggy  took  the  brown  head  in  her 
lap  and  let  her  big  hands  wander  softly  over  the 
girl's  pale  face.  "Sh, — sh,"  she  said  as  if  she 
were  soothing  a  baby,  "don't  go  on  lak  dat. 
W'y  whut's  de  mattah  wid  you,  Miss  Mime? 
'Pears  lak  you  done  los'  all  yo'  spe'it.  Whut  you 
reckon  yo'  pappy  'u'd  t'ink  ef  he  could  see  you 
ca'in'  on  dis  away  ?  Didn'  he  put  his  han'  on  yo' 
haid  an'  call  you  his  own  brave  little  gal,  jes' 
befo',  jes'  befo' — he  went  ?  " 

The  girl  raised  her  head  for  a  moment  and 
looked  at  the  old  woman. 

"Oh,  mammy,  mammy,"  she  cried,  "I  have 
tried  so  hard  to  be  brave — to  be  really  my  father's 
daughter,  but  I  can't,  I  can't.  Everything  I  turn 
my  hand  to  fails.  I've  tried  sewing,  but  here 
every  one  sews  for  herself  now.  I've  even  tried 
writing,"  and  here  a  crimson  glow  burned  in  her 
cheeks,  "but  oh,  the  awful  regularity  with  which 
everything  came  back  to  me.  Why,  I  even  put 


MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE  29 

you  in  a  story,  Mammy  Peggy,  you  dear  old, 
good,  unselfish  thing,  and  the  hard-hearted  edi 
tor  had  the  temerity  to  decline  you  with  thanks." 

"  I  wouldn't 'a'  nevah  lef  you  nohow,  honey." 

Mima  laughed  through  her  tears.  The  strength 
of  her  first  grief  had  passed,  and  she  was  view 
ing  her  situation  with  a  whimsical  enjoyment  of 
its  humorous  points. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  went  on,  "it  seems  to 
me  that  it's  only  in  stories  themselves  that  desti 
tute  young  Southern  girls  get  on  and  make 
fame  and  fortune  with  their  pens.  I'm  sure  I 
couldn't." 

"Of  course  you  couldn't.  Whut  else  do  you 
'spect?  Whut  you  know  'bout  mekin'  a  for 
tune  ?  Ain't  you  a  Ha'ison  ?  De  Ha'isons 
nevah  was  no  buyin'  an'  sellin',  mekin'  an' 
tradin'  fambly.  Dey  was  gent'men  an'  ladies 
f'om  de  ve'y  fus'  beginnin'." 

"Oh  what  a  pity  one  cannot  sell  one's  quality 
for  daily  bread,  or  trade  off  one's  blue  blood  for 
black  coffee." 

"Miss  Mime,  is  you  out  o'  yo'  haid?"  asked 
Mammy  Peggy  in  disgust  and  horror. 

"No,  I'm  not,  Mammy  Peggy,  but  I  do  wish 
that  I  could  traffic  in  some  of  my  too  numerous 


30  MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE 

and  too  genteel  ancestors  instead  of  being  com 
pelled  to  dispose  of  my  ancestral  home  and  be 
turned  out  into  the  street  like  a  pauper." 

"  Heish,  honey,  heish,  I  can'  stan'  to  hyeah  you 
talk  dat-away.  I's  so'y  to  see  dee  ol'  place  go,  but 
you  got  to  go  out  of  it  wid  yo'  haid  up,  jes'  ez  ef 
you  was  gwine  away  fo'  a  visit  an'  could  come 
back  w'en  evah  you  wanted  to." 

"I  shall  slink  out  of  it  like  a  cur.  I  can't 
meet  the  eyes  of  the  new  owner;  I  shall  hate 
him." 

"W'y,  Miss  Mime,  whaih's  yo'  pride? 
Whaih's  yo'  Ha'ison  pride?" 

"Gone,  gone  with  the  deed  of  this  house  and 
its  furniture.  Gone  with  the  money  I  paid  for 
the  new  cottage  and  its  cheap  chairs." 

"Gone,  hit  ain'  gone,  fu'  ef  you  won't  let  on 
to  have  it,  I  will.  I'll  show  dat  new  man  how 
yo'  pa  would  'a'  did  ef  he'd  'a'  been  hyeah." 

"What,  you,  Mammy  Peggy?" 

"Yes,  me,  I  ain'  a-gwine  to  let  him  t'ink  dat 
de  Ha'isons  didn'  have  no  quality." 

"Good,  mammy,  you  make  me  remember 
who  I  am,  and  what  my  duty  is.  I  shall  see 
Mr.  Northcope  when  he  comes,  and  I'll  try  to 
make  my  Harrison  pride  sustain  me  when  I  give 


MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE  31 

up  to  him  everything  I  have  held  dear.  Oh, 
mammy,  mammy!" 

"  Heish,  chile,  sh,  sh,  er  go  on,  dat's  right,  yo' 
eyes  is  open  now  an'  you  kin  cry  a  little  weenty 
bit.  It'll  do  you  good.  But  when  dat  new  man 
comes  I  want  mammy's  lamb  to  look  at  him  an' 
hoi'  huh  haid  lak'  huh  ma  used  to  hoi'  hern,  an' 
I  reckon  Mistah  No'thcope  gwine  to  withah 
away." 

And  so  it  happened  that  when  Bartley  North- 
cope  came  the  next  day  to  take  possession  of 
the  old  Virginia  mansion  he  was  welcomed  at 
the  door,  and  ushered  into  the  broad  parlor  by 
Mammy  Peggy,  stiff  and  unbending  in  the  faded 
finery  of  her  family's  better  days. 

"Miss  Mime  '11  be  down  in  a  minute,"  she  told 
him,  and  as  he  sat  in  the  great  old  room,  and 
looked  about  him  at  the  evidences  of  ancient 
affluence,  his  spirit  was  subdued  by  the  silent 
tragedy  which  his  possession  of  it  evinced.  But 
he  could  not  but  feel  a  thrill  at  the  bit  of  comedy 
which  is  on  the  edge  of  every  tragedy,  as  he 
thought  of  Mammy  Peggy  and  her  formal  re 
ception.  "She  let  me  into  my  own  house,"  he 
thought  to  himself,  "with  the  air  of  granting  me 
a  favor."  And  then  there  was  a  step  on  the 


32  MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE 

stair;  the  door  opened,  and  Miss  Mima  stood 
before  him,  proud,  cold,  white,  and  beautiful. 

He  found  his  feet,  and  went  forward  to  meet 
her.  "Mr.  Northcope,"  she  said,  and  offered 
her  hand  daintily,  hesitatingly.  He  took  it,  and 
thought,  even  in  that  flash  of  a  second,  what  a 
soft,  tiny  hand  it  was. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "and  I  have  been  sitting  here, 
overcome  by  the  vastness  of  your  fine  old  house." 

The  "your"  was  delicate,  she  thought,  but 
she  only  said,  "Let  me  help  you  to  recovery 
with  some  tea.  Mammy  will  bring  some,"  and 
then  she  blushed  very  red.  "My  old  nurse  is 
the  only  servant  I  have  with  me,  and  she  is 
always  mammy  to  me."  She  remembered,  and 
throwing  up  her  proud  little  head  rang  for  the 
old  woman. 

Directly,  Mammy  Peggy  came  marching  in  like 
a  grenadier.  She  bore  a  tray  with  the  tea  things 
on  it,  and  after  she  had  set  it  down  hovered  in 
the  room  as  if  to  chaperon  her  mistress. 
Hartley  felt  decidedly  uncomfortable.  Mima's 
manners  were  all  that  politeness  could  require, 
but  he  felt  as  if  she  resented  his  coming  even  to 
his  own,  and  he  knew  that  mammy  looked  upon 
him  as  an  interloper. 


"  MAMMY    I'EGGY    CAME    MARCHING    IN    LIKE    A    GRENADIER." 


MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE  33 

Mima  kept  up  well,  only  the  paleness  of  her 
face  showed  what  she  felt  at  leaving  her  home. 
Her  voice  was  calm  and  impassive,  only  once  it 
trembled,  when  she  wished  that  he  would  be  as 
happy  in  the  house  as  she  had  been. 

"1  feel  very  much  like  an  interloper,"  he  said, 
"but  I  hope  you  won't  feel  yourself  entirely 
shut  out  from  your  beautiful  home.  My  father, 
who  comes  on  in  a  few  days  is  an  invalid,  and 
gets  about  very  little,  and  I  am  frequently  from 
home,  so  pray  make  use  of  the  grounds  when 
you  please,  and  as  much  of  the  house  as  you  find 
convenient." 

A  cold  "thank  you"  fell  from  Mima's  lips,  but 
then  she  went  on,  hesitatingly,  "1  should  like  to 
come  sometimes  to  the  hill,  out  there  behind 
the  orchard."  Her  voice  choked,  but  she  went 
bravely  on,  "Some  of  my  dear  ones  are  buried 
there." 

"Go  there,  and  elsewhere,  as  much  as  you 
please.  That  spot  shall  be  sacred  from  in 
vasion." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  said  and  rose  to  go. 
Mammy  carried  away  the  tea  things,  and  then 
came  and  waited  silently  by  the  door. 

"I  hope  you  will  believe  me,  Miss  Harrison/' 


34  MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE 

said  Hartley,  as  Mima  was  starting,  "when  I  say 
that  I  do  not  come  to  your  home  as  a  vandal  to 
destroy  all  that  makes  its  recollection  dear  to  you; 
for  there  are  some  associations  about  it  that  are 
almost  as  much  to  me  as  to  you,  since  my  eyes 
have  been  opened." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  she  replied. 

"I  can  explain.  For  some  years  past  my 
father's  condition  has  kept  me  very  closely 
bound  to  him,  and  both  before  and  after  the 
beginning  of  the  war,  we  lived  abroad.  A  few 
years  ago,  I  came  to  know  and  love  a  man,  who 
I  am  convinced  now  was  your  brother.  Am  1 
mistaken  in  thinking  that  you  are  a  sister  of 
Philip  Harrison  ?" 

"No,  no,  he  was  my  brother,  my  only 
brother." 

"I  met  him  in  Venice  just  before  the  war  and 
we  came  to  be  dear  friends.  But  in  the  events 
that  followed  so  tumultuously,  and  from  partici 
pation  in  which,  I  was  cut  off  by  my  father's 
illness,  I  lost  sight  of  him." 

"But  I  don't  believe  I  remember  hearing  my 
brother  speak  of  you,  and  he  was  not  usually  ret 
icent." 

"You   would    not   remember  me  as   Bartley 


MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE  35 

Northcope,  unless  you  were  familiar  with  the 
very  undignified  sobriquet  with  which  your 
brother  nicknamed  me,"  said  the  young  man 
smiling. 

"Nickname — what,  you  are  not,  you  can't  be 
'Budge'?" 

"I  am  'Budge'  or  'old  Budge'  as  Phil  called 
me." 

Mima  had  her  hand  on  the  door-knob,  but  she 
turned  with  an  impulsive  motion  and  went  back 
to  him.  "I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said, 
giving  him  her  hand  again,  and  "Mammy,"  she 
called,  "  Mr.  Northcope  is  an  old  friend  of  brother 
Phil's!" 

The  effect  of  this  news  on  mammy  was  like 
that  of  the  April  sun  on  an  icicle.  She  suddenly 
melted,  and  came  overflowing  back  into  the 
room,  her  smiles  and  grins  and  nods  trickling 
everywhere  under  the  genial  warmth  of  this  new 
friendliness.  Before  one  who  had  been  a  friend 
of  "Mas'  Phil's,"  Mammy  Peggy  needed  no 
pride. 

"La,  chile,"  she  exclaimed,  settling  and  patting 
the  cushions  of  the  chair  in  which  he  had  been 
sitting,  "  w'y  didn'  you  say  so  befo'  ?" 

"  1  wasn't  sure  that  I  was  standing  in  the  house 


36  MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE 

of  my  old   friend.     I   only   knew  that  he  lived 
somewhere  in  Virginia." 

"  He  is  among  those  out  on  the  hill  behind  the 
orchard,"  said  Mima,  sadly.  Mammy  Peggy 
wiped  her  eyes,  and  went  about  trying  to  add 
some  touches  of  comfort  to  the  already  perfect 
room. 

"You  have  no  reason  to  sorrow,  Miss  Harri 
son,"  said  Northcope  gently,  "  for  a  brother  who 
died  bravely  in  battle  for  his  principles.  Had  fate 
allowed  me  to  be  here  I  should  have  been  upon 
the  other  side,  but  believe  me,  I  both  understand 
and  appreciate  your  brother's  heroism." 

The  young  girl's  eyes  glistened  with  tears, 
through  which  glowed  her  sisterly  pride. 

"Won't  you  come  out  and  look  at  his  grave  ?  " 
"  It  is  the  desire  that  was  in  my  mind." 
Together  they  walked  out,  with  mammy  fol 
lowing,  to  the  old  burying  plot.  All  her  talk  was 
of  her  brother's  virtues,  and  he  proved  an  appre 
ciative  listener.  She  pointed  out  favorite  spots 
of  her  brother's  childhood  as  they  passed  along, 
and  indicated  others  which  his  boyish  pranks  had 
made  memorable,  though  the  eyes  of  the  man 
were  oftener  on  her  face  than  on  the  landscape. 
But  it  was  with  real  sympathy  and  reverence 


MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE  37 

that  he  stood  with  bared  head  beside  the  grave 
of  his  friend,  and  the  tears  that  she  left  fall  un 
checked  in  his  presence  were  not  all  tears  of 
grief. 

They  did  not  go  away  from  him  that  after 
noon  until  Mammy  Peggy,  seconded  by  Mima, 
had  won  his  consent  to  let  the  old  servant  come 
over  and  "do  for  him"  until  he  found  suitable 
servants. 

"To  think  of  his  having  known  Philip,"  said 
Mima  with  shining  eyes  as  they  entered  the  new 
cottage,  and  somehow  it  looked  pleasanter, 
brighter  and  less  mean  to  her  than  it  had  ever  be 
fore. 

"Now  s'posin'  you'd  'a'  run  off  widout  seein' 
him,  whaih  would  you  been  den  ?  You  wouldn' 
nevah  knowed  whut  you  knows." 

"You're  right,  Mammy  Peggy,  and  I'm  glad  I 
stayed  and  faced  him,  for  it  doesn't  seem  now  as 
if  a  stranger  had  the  house,  and  it  has  given  me 
a  great  pleasure.  It  seemed  like  having  Phil  back 
again  to  have  him  talked  about  so  by  one  who 
lived  so  near  to  him." 

"I  tell  you,  chile,"  mammy  supplemented  in 
an  oracular  tone,  "  de  right  kin'  o'  pride  allus 
pays."  Mima  laughed  heartily.  The  old  woman 


38  MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE 

looked  at  her  bright  face.  Then  she  put  her  big 
hand  on  the  girl's  small  one.  It  was  trembling. 
She  shook  her  head.  Mima  blushed. 

Bartley  went  out  and  sat  on  the  veranda  a  long 
time  after  they  were  gone.  He  took  in  the  great 
expanse  of  lawn  about  the  house,  and  the  dark 
background  of  the  pines  in  the  woods  beyond. 
He  thought  of  the  conditions  through  which  the 
place  had  become  his,  and  the  thought  saddened 
him,  even  in  the  first  glow  of  the  joy  of  posses 
sion.  Then  his  mind  went  on  to  the  old  friend 
who  was  sleeping  his  last  sleep  back  there  on  the 
sun-bathed  hill.  His  recollection  went  fondly 
over  the  days  of  their  comradeship  in  Venice, 
and  colored  them  anew  with  glory. 

"These  Southerners,"  he  mused  aloud,  "can 
not  understand  that  we  sympathize  with  their 
misfortunes.  But  we  do.  They  forget  how  our 
sympathies  have  been  trained.  We  were  first 
taught  to  sympathize  with  the  slave,  and  now 
that  he  is  free,  and  needs  less,  perhaps,  of  our 
sympathy,  this,  by  a  transition,  as  easy  as  it  is 
natural,  is  transferred  to  his  master.  Poor,  poor 
Phil!" 

There  was  a  strange  emotion,  half-sad,  half- 
pleasant  tugging  at  his  heart.  A  mist  came  be- 


MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE  39 

fore  his  eyes  and  hid  the  landscape  for  a  mo 
ment. 

And  he,  he  referred  it  all  to  the  memories  of  the 
brother.  Yes,  he  thought  he  was  thinking  of  the 
brother,  and  he  did  not  notice  or  did  not  pretend 
to  notice  that  a  pair  of  appealing  eyes  looking 
out  beneath  waves  of  brown  hair,  that  a  soft, 
fair  hand,  pressed  in  his  own,  floated  nebulously 
at  the  back  of  his  consciousness. 

It  was  not  until  he  had  set  out  to  furnish  his 
house  with  a  complement  of  servants  against  the 
coming  of  his  father  that  Hartley  came  to  realize 
the  full  worth  of  Mammy  Peggy's  offer  to  "do 
for  him."  The  old  woman  not  only  got  his 
meals  and  kept  him  comfortable,  trudging  over 
and  back  every  day  from  the  little  cottage,  but 
she  proved  invaluable  in  the  choice  of  domestic 
help.  She  knew  her  people  thereabouts,  just  who 
was  spry,  and  who  was  trifling,  and  with  the  lat 
ter  she  would  have  nothing  whatever  to  do.  She 
acted  rather  as  if  he  were  a  guest  in  his  own 
house,  and  what  was  more  would  take  no  pay 
for  it.  Of  course  there  had  to  be  some  return  for 
so  much  kindness,  and  it  took  the  form  of  vari 
ous  gifts  of  flowers  and  fruit  from  the  old  place 
to  the  new  cottage.  And  sometimes  when 


40  MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE 

Hartley  had  forgotten  to  speak  of  it  before 
mammy  had  left,  he  would  arrange  his  baskets 
and  carry  his  offering  over  himself.  Mima 
thought  it  was  very  thoughtful  and  kind  of  him, 
and  she  wondered  on  these  occasions  if  they 
ought  not  to  keep  Mr.  Northcope  to  tea,  and  if 
mammy  would  not  like  to  make  some  of  those 
nice  muffins  of  hers  that  he  had  liked  so,  and 
mammy  always  smiled  on  her  charge,  and  said, 
"Yes,  honey,  yes,  but  hit  do  'pear  lak'  dat 
Mistah  No'thcope  do  fu'git  mo'  an'  mo'  to  sen' 
de  t'ings  ovah  by  me  w'en  I's  daih." 

But  mammy  found  her  special  charge  when  the 
elder  Northcope  came.  It  seemed  that  she  could 
never  do  enough  for  the  pale,  stooped  old  man, 
and  he  declared  that  he  had  never  felt  better  in 
his  life  than  he  grew  to  feel  under  her  touch.  An 
injury  to  his  spine  had  resulted  in  partially  dis 
abling  him,  but  his  mind  was  a  rich  store  of 
knowledge,  and  his  disposition  was  tender  and 
cheerful.  So  it  pleased  his  son  sometimes  to 
bring  Mima  over  to  see  him. 

The  warm,  impulsive  heart  of  the  Southern  girt 
went  out  to  him,  and  they  became  friends  at  oncet 
He  found  in  her  that  soft,  caressing,  humoring 
quality  that  even  his  son's  devotion  could  not  sup- 


MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE  41 

ply,  and  his  superior  age,  knowledge  and  wisdom 
made  up  to  her  the  lost  father's  care  for  which 
Peggy's  love  illy  substituted.  The  tenderness 
grew  between  them.  Through  the  long  after 
noons  she  would  read  to  him  from  his  favorite 
books,  or  would  listen  to  him  as  he  talked  of  the 
lands  where  he  had  been,  and  the  things  he  had 
seen.  Sometimes  Mammy  Peggy  grumbled  at 
the  reading,  and  said  it  "  wuzjes'  lak'doin'  hiahed 
wo'k,"  but  Mima  only  laughed  and  went  on. 

Bartley  saw  the  sympathy  between  them  and  did 
not  obtrude  his  presence,  but  often  in  the  twilight 
when  she  started  away,  he  would  slip  out  of  some 
corner  and  walk  home  with  her. 

These  little  walks  together  were  very  pleasant, 
and  on  one  occasion  he  had  asked  her  the  ques 
tion  that  made  her  pale  and  red  by  turns,  and  sent 
her  heart  beating  with  convulsive  throbs  that 
made  her  gasp. 

"Maybe  I'm  over  soon  in  asking  you,  Mima 
dear,"  he  faltered,  "  but— but,  I  couldn't  wait  any 
longer.  You've  become  a  part  of  my  life.  I 
have  no  hope,  no  joy,  no  thought  that  you  are 
not  of.  Won't  you  be  my  wife  ?  " 

They  were  pausing  at  her  gate,  and  she  was 
trembling  from  what  emotion  he  only  dared  guess. 


42  MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE 

But  she  did  not  answer.  She  only  returned  the 
pressure  of  his  hand,  and  drawing  it  away,  rushed 
into  the  house.  She  durst  not  trust  her  voice. 
Hartley  went  home  walking  on  air. 

Mima  did  not  go  directly  to  Mammy  Peggy 
with  her  news.  She  must  compose  herself  first. 
This  was  hard  to  do,  so  she  went  to  her  room 
and  sat  down  to  think  it  over. 

"He  loves  me,  he  loves  me,"  she  kept  saying 
to  herself  and  with  each  repetition  of  the  words, 
the  red  came  anew  into  her  cheeks.  They  were 
still  a  suspicious  hue  when  she  went  into  the 
kitchen  to  find  mammy  who  was  slumbering  over 
the  waiting  dinner.  "  What  meks  you  so  long, 
honey,"  asked  the  old  woman,  coming  wide 
awake  out  of  her  cat-nap. 

"Oh,— I— I— I  don't  know,"  answered  the 
young  girl,  blushing  furiously,  "  1 — I  stopped  to 
talk." 

"  Why  dey  ain'  no  one  in  de  house  to  talk  to. 
I  hyeahed  you  w'en  you  come  home.  You 
have  been  a  powahful  time  sence  you  come  in. 
Whut  meks  you  so  red  ?"  Then  a  look  of  intel 
ligence  came  into  mammy's  fat  face,  "Oomph," 
she  said. 

"  Oh  mammy,  don't  look  that  way,  I  couldn't 


MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE  43 

help  it.  Hartley — Mr.  Northcope  has  asked  me 
to  be  his  wife." 

"Asked  you  to  be  his  wife!  Oomph!  Whut 
did  you  tell  him  ?" 

"  1  didn't  tell  him  anything.  I  was  so  ashamed 
I  couldn't  talk.  I  just  ran  away  like  a  silly." 

"  Oomph,"  said  mammy  again,  "  an'  whut  you 
gwine  to  tell  him  ?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Don't  you  think  he's  a 
very  nice  young  man,  Mr.  Northcope,  mammy  ? 
And  then  his  father's  so  nice." 

Mammy's  face  clouded.  "I  doan' see  whaih 
yo'  Ha'ison  pride  is,"  she  said;  "  co'se,  he  may  be 
nice  enough,  but  does  you  want  to  tell  him  yes 
de  fust  t'ing,  so's  he'll  t'ink  dat  you  jumped  at 
de  chanst  to  git  him  an'  git  back  in  de  home- 
stid  ?  " 

"Oh,  mammy,"  cried  Mima;  she  had  gone  all 
white  and  cold. 

"  You  do'  know  nothin'  'bout  his  quality.  You 
a  Ha'ison  yo'se'f.  Who  is  he  to  be  jumped  at 
an'  tuk  at  de  fust  axin'  ?  Ef  he  wants  you  ve'y 
bad  he'll  ax  mo'  dan  once." 

"You  needn't  have  reminded  me,  mammy,  of 
who  I  am,"  said  Mima.  "I  had  no  intention  of 
telling  Mr.  Northcope  yes.  You  needn't  have 


44  MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE 

been  afraid  for  me."  She  fibbed  a  little,  it  is  to 
be  feared. 

"Now  don't  talk  dat  'way,  chile.  1  know  you 
laks  him,  an'  I  do'  want  to  stop  you  f'om  tekin' 
him.  Don't  you  say  no,  ez  ef  you  wasn'  nevah 
gwine  to  say  nothin'  else.  You  jes'  say  a  hol'in' 
off  no." 

"  I  like  Mr.  Northcope  as  a  friend,  and  my  no  to 
him  will  be  final." 

The  dinner  did  not  go  down  very  well  with 
Mima  that  evening.  It  stopped  in  her  throat, 
and  when  she  swallowed,  it  brought  the  tears  to 
her  eyes.  When  it  was  done,  she  hurried  away 
to  her  room. 

She  was  so  disappointed,  but  she  would  not 
confess  it  to  herself,  and  she  would  not  weep. 
"He  proposed  to  me  because  he  pitied  me,  oh, 
the  shame  of  it!  He  turned  me  out  of  doors, 
and  then  thought  I  would  be  glad  to  come  back 
at  any  price." 

When  he  read  her  cold  formal  note,  Hartley 
knew  that  he  had  offended  her,  and  the  thought 
burned  him  like  fire.  He  cursed  himself  for  a 
blundering  fool.  "She  was  only  trying  to  be 
kind  to  father  and  me,"  he  said,  "and  I  have 
taken  advantage  of  her  goodness."  He  would 


MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE  45 

never  have  confessed  to  himself  before  that  he 
was  a  coward.  But  that  morning  when  he  got 
her  note,  he  felt  that  he  could  not  face  her  just 
yet,  and  commending  his  father  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  Mammy  Peggy  and  the  servants,  he 
took  the  first  train  to  the  north. 

It  would  be  hard  to  say  which  of  the  two  was 
the  most  disappointed  when  the  truth  was 
known.  It  might  better  be  said  which  of  the 
three,  for  Mima  went  no  more  to  the  house,  and 
the  elder  Northcope  fretted  and  was  restless 
without  her.  He  availed  himself  of  an  invalid's 
privilege  to  be  disagreeable,  and  nothing  Mammy 
Peggy  could  do  now  would  satisfy  him.  Indeed, 
between  the  two,  the  old  woman  had  a  hard  time 
of  it,  for  Mima  was  tearful  and  morose,  and 
would  not  speak  to  her  except  to  blame  her.  As 
the  days  went  on  she  wished  to  all  the  powers 
that  she  had  left  the  Harrison  pride  in  the  keep 
ing  of  the  direct  members  of  the  family.  It  had 
proven  a  dangerous  thing  in  her  hands. 

Mammy  soliloquized  when  she  was  about  her 
work  in  the  kitchen.  "Men  ain'  whut  dey  used 
to  be,"  she  said,  "who'd  'a'  t'ought  o'  de  young 
man  a  runnin'  off  dat  away  jes'  'cause  a  ooman 
tol'  him  no.  He  orter  had  sense  enough  to  know 


46  MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE 

dat  a  ooman  has  sev'al  kin's  o'  noes.  Now  ef 
dat  'ud  'a'  been  in  my  day  he'd  a  jes'  stayed  away 
to  let  huh  t'ink  hit  ovah  an'  den  come  back  an' 
axed  huh  ag'in.  Den  she  could  'a'  said  yes  all 
right  an'  proper  widout  a  belittlin'  huhse'f.  But 
'stead  o'  dat  he  mus'  go  a  ta'in'  off  jes'  ez  soon  ez 
de  fus'  wo'ds  come  outen  huh  mouf.  Put'  nigh 
brekin'  huh  hea't.  I  clah  to  goodness,  I  nevah 
did  see  sich  ca'in's  on." 

Several  weeks  passed  before  Bartley  returned 
to  his  home.  Autumn  was  painting  the  trees 
about  the  place  before  the  necessity  of  being  at 
his  father's  side  called  him  from  his  voluntary 
exile.  And  then  he  did  not  go  to  see  Mima.  He 
was  still  bowed  with  shame  at  what  he  thought 
his  unmanly  presumption,  and  he  did  not  blame 
her  that  she  avoided  him. 

His  attention  was  arrested  one  day  about  a 
week  after  his  return  by  the  peculiar  actions  of 
Mammy  Peggy.  She  hung  around  him,  and 
watched  him,  following  him  from  place  to  place 
like  a  spaniel. 

Finally  he  broke  into  a  laugh  and  said,  "Why, 
what's  the  matter,  Aunt  Peggy,  are  you  afraid 
I'm  going  to  run  away  ?" 

"No,    I   ain'   af eared   o'   dat,"   said    mammy, 


MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE  47 

meekly,  "but  I  been  had  somepn'  to  say  to  you 
dis  long  w'ile." 

"Well,  go  ahead,  I'm  listening." 

Mammy  gulped  and  went  on.  "Ask  huh 
ag'in,"  she  said,  "it  were  my  fault  she  tol'  you 
no.  I  'minded  huh  o'  huh  fambly  pride  an'  tol' 
huh  to  hoi'  you  off  less'n  you'd  t'ink  she  wan'ed 
to  jump  at  you." 

Bartley  was  on  his  feet  in  a  minute. 

"  What  does  this  mean,"  he  cried.  "  Is  it  true, 
didn't  I  offend  her?" 

"No,  you  didn'  'fend  huh.  She's  been  pinin' 
fu'  you,  'twell  she's  growed  right  peekid." 

"Sh,  auntie,  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  Mim 
— Miss  Harrison  cares  for  me?" 

"You  go  an'  ax  huh  ag'in." 

Bartley  needed  no  second  invitation.  He  flew 
to  the  cottage.  Mima's  heart  gave  a  great  throb 
when  she  saw  him  coming  up  the  walk,  and 
she  tried  to  harden  herself  against  him.  But 
her  lips  would  twitch,  and  her  voice  would 
tremble  as  she  said,  "  How  do  you  do,  Mr. 
Northcope  ?  " 

He  looked  keenly  into  her  eyes. 

"Have  I  been  mistaken,  Mima,"  he  said,  "in 
believing  that  I  greatly  offended  you  by  asking 


48  MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE 

you  to  be  my  wife  ?  Do  you — can  you  care  for 
me,  darling  ?  " 

The  words  stuck  in  her  throat,  and  he  went 
on,  "I  thought  you  were  angry  with  me  because 
I  had  taken  advantage  of  your  kindness  to  my 
father,  or  presumed  upon  any  kindness  that  you 
may  have  felt  for  me  out  of  respect  to  your 
brother's  memory.  Believe  me,  I  was  innocent 
of  any  such  intention." 

"Oh,  it  wasn't — it  wasn't  that!  "  she  gasped. 

"  Then  won't  you  give  me  a  different  answer," 
he  said,  taking  her  hand. 

"I  can't,  I  can't,"  she  cried. 

"Why,  Mima?"  he  asked. 

"Because " 

"Because  of  the  Harrison  pride?" 

"Bartley!" 

"Your  Mammy  Peggy  has  confessed  all  to 
me." 

"Mammy  Peggy!" 

"Yes."  " 

She  tried  hard  to  stiffen  herself.  "Then  it  is 
all  out  of  the  question,"  she  began. 

"Don't  let  any  little  folly  or  pride  stand  be 
tween  us,"  he  broke  in,  drawing  her  to  him. 

She  gave  up  the  struggle,  and  her  head  dropped 


MAMMY  PEGGY'S  PRIDE  49 

upon  his  shoulder  for  a  moment.  Then  she 
lifted  her  eyes,  shining  with  tears  to  his  face, 
arid  said,  "  Hartley,  it  wasn't  my  pride,  it  was 
Mammy  Peggy's." 

He  cut  off  further  remarks. 

When  he  was  gone,  and  mammy  came  in  after 
a  while,  Mima  ran  to  her  crying, 

"Oh,  mammy,  mammy,  you  bad,  stupid,  dear 
old  goose!"  and  she  buried  her  head  in  the  old 
woman's  lap. 

"Oomph,"  grunted  mammy,  "I  said  de  right 
kin'  o'  pride  allus  pays.  But  de  wrong  kin' — 
oomph,  well,  you'd  bettah  look  out!" 


VINEY'S 
FREE  PAPERS 


51 


VINEY'S  FREE  PAPERS 
PART  I 

THERE  was  joy  in  the  bosom  of  Ben  Raymond. 
He  sang  as  he  hoed  in  the  field.  He  cheerfully 
worked  overtime  and  his  labors  did  not  make 
him  tired.  When  the  quitting  horn  blew  he  ex 
ecuted  a  double  shuffle  as  he  shouldered  his  hoe 
and  started  for  his  cabin.  While  the  other  men 
dragged  wearily  over  the  ground  he  sprang  along 
as  if  all  day  long  he  had  not  been  bending  over 
the  hoe  in  the  hot  sun,  with  the  sweat  streaming 
from  his  face  in  rivulets. 

And  this  had  been  going  on  for  two  months 
now — two  happy  months — ever  since  Viney  had 
laid  her  hand  in  his,  had  answered  with  a  co 
quettish  "Yes, "and  the  master  had  given  his 
consent,  his  blessing  and  a  five-dollar  bill. 

It  had  been  a  long  and  trying  courtship — that 
is,  it  had  been  trying  for  Ben,  because  Viney 
loved  pleasure  and  hungered  for  attention  and 
the  field  was  full  of  rivals.  She  was  a  merry 
girl  and  a  pretty  one.  No  one  could  dance  bet- 
53 


54  VINEY'S  FREE  PAPERS 

ter;  no  girl  on  the  place  was  better  able  to  dress 
her  dark  charms  to  advantage  or  to  show  them  off 
more  temptingly.  The  toss  of  her  head  was  an 
invitation  and  a  challenge  in  one,  and  the  way 
she  smiled  back  at  them  over  her  shoulder,  set  the 
young  men's  heads  dancing  and  their  hearts 
throbbing.  So  her  suitors  were  many.  But 
through  it  all  Ben  was  patient,  unflinching  and 
faithful,  and  finally,  after  leading  him  a  life  full 
of  doubt  and  suspense,  the  coquette  surrendered 
and  gave  herself  into  his  keeping. 

She  was  maid  to  her  mistress,  but  she  had 
time,  nevertheless,  to  take  care  of  the  newly 
whitewashed  cabin  in  the  quarters  to  which  Ben 
took  her.  And  it  was  very  pleasant  to  lean  over 
and  watch  him  at  work  making  things  for  the 
little  house — a  chair  from  a  barrel  and  a  wonder 
ful  box  of  shelves  to  stand  in  the  corner.  And 
she  knew  how  to  say  merry  things,  and  later 
outside  his  door  Ben  would  pick  his  banjo  and 
sing  low  and  sweetly  in  the  musical  voice  of  his 
race.  Altogether  such  another  honeymoon  there 
had  never  been. 

For  once  the  old  women  hushed  up  their 
prophecies  of  evil,  although  in  the  beginning  they 
had  shaken  their  wise  old  turbaned  heads  and 


VINEY'S  FREE  PAPERS  55 

predicted  that  marriage  with  such  a  flighty  crea 
ture  as  Viney  could  come  to  no  good.  They  had 
said  among  themselves  that  Ben  would  better 
marry  some  good,  solid-minded,  strong-armed 
girl  who  would  think  more  about  work  than 
about  pleasures  and  coquetting. 

"I  'low,  honey,"  an  old  woman  had  said, 
11  she'll  mek  his  heart  ache  many  a  time.  She'll 
comb  his  haid  wid  a  three-legged  stool  an'  bresh 
it  wid  de  broom.  Uh,  huh — putty,  is  she  ?  You 
ma'y  huh  'cause  she  putty.  Ki-yi!  She  fix  you! 
Putty  women  fu'  putty  tricks." 

And  the  old  hag  smacked  her  lips  over  the 
spice  of  malevolence  in  her  words.  Some 
women — and  they  are  not  all  black  and  ugly— 
never  forgive  the  world  for  letting  them  grow  old. 

But,  in  spite  of  all  prophecies  to  the  contrary, 
two  months  of  unalloyed  joy  had  passed  for  Ben 
and  Viney,  and  to-night  the  climax  seemed  to 
have  been  reached.  Ben  hurried  along,  talking 
to  himself  as  his  hoe  swung  over  his  shoulder. 

"Kin  I  do  it? "he  was  saying.  "Kin  I  do 
it?"  Then  he  would  stop  his  walk  and  his  cog 
itations  would  bloom  into  a  mirthful  chuckle. 
Something  very  pleasant  was  passing  through 
his  mind. 


56  VINEY'S  FREE  PAPERS 

As  he  approached,  Viney  was  standing  in  the 
door  of  the  little  cabin,  whose  white  sides  with 
green  Madeira  clambering  over  them  made  a 
pretty  frame  for  the  dark  girl  in  her  print  dress. 
The  husband  bent  double  at  sight  of  her,  stopped, 
took  off  his  hat,  slapped  his  knee,  and  relieved 
his  feelings  by  a  sounding  "  Who-ee!  " 

" What's  de  mattah  wid  you,  Ben?  You  ac' 
lak  you  mighty  happy.  Bettah  come  on  in 
hyeah  an'  git  yo'  suppah  fo'  hit  gits  col'." 

For  answer,  the  big  fellow  dropped  the  hoe 
and,  seizing  the  slight  form  in  his  arms,  swung 
her  around  until  she  gasped  for  breath. 

"Oh,  Ben,"  she  shrieked,  "you  done  tuk  all 
my  win'!" 

"Dah,  now,"  he  said,  letting  her  down; 
"dat's  what  you  gits  fu'  talkin'  sassy  to  me!  " 

"Nev'  min';  I'm  goin'  to  fix  you  fu'  dat  fus' 
time  I  gits  de  chanst — see  ef  I  don't." 

' '  Whut  you  gwine  do  ?   G wine  to  pizen  me  ?  " 

"  Worse'n  dat! " 

"Wuss'n  dat?  Whut  you  gwine  fin'  any 
wuss'n  pizenin'  me,  less'n  you  conjuh  me  ?  " 

"  Huh  uh — still  worse'n  dat.  I'm  goin'  to 
leave  you." 

"  Huh  uh — no  you  ain',  'cause  any  place  you'd 


VINEY'S  FREE  PAPERS  57 

go  you  wouldn'  no  more'n  git  dah  twell  you'd 
tu'n  erroun'  all  of  er  sudden  an'  say,  '  Why,  dah's 
Ben!'  an'  dah  I'd  be." 

They  chattered  on  like  children  while  she  was 
putting  the  supper  on  the  table  and  he  was  laving 
his  hot  face  in  the  basin  beside  the  door. 

"  I  got  great  news  fu'  you,"  he  said,  as  they  sat 
down. 

"  I  bet  you  ain'  got  nothin'  of  de  kin'." 

"  All  right.  Den  dey  ain'  no  use  in  me  a  try  in1 
to  'vince  you.  I  jes'  be  wastin'  my  bref." 

"Go  on— tell  me,  Ben." 

"  Huh  uh — you  bet  I  ain',  an'  ef  I  tell  you  you 
lose  de  bet." 

"  I  don'  keer.  Ef  you  don'  tell  me,  den  I  know 
you  ain'  got  no  news  worth  tellin'." 

"  Ain'  go  no  news  wuff  tellin' !    Who-ee!  " 

He  came  near  choking  on  a  gulp  of  coffee,  and 
again  his  knee  suffered  from  the  pounding  of  his 
great  hands. 

"  Huccume  you  so  full  of  laugh  to-night  ?  "  she 
asked,  laughing  with  him. 

"  How  you  'spec'  I  gwine  tell  you  dat  less'n  I 
tell  you  my  sec'ut  ?" 

"  Well,  den,  go  on — tell  me  yo'  sec'ut." 

"  Huh  uh.     You  done  bet  it  ain'  wuff  tellin'." 


58  VINEY'S  FREE  PAPERS 

"I  don't  keer  what  I  bet.  I  wan'  to  hyeah  it 
now.  Please,  Ben,  please!" 

''Listen  how  she  baig!  Well,  I  gwine  tell  you 
now.  I  ain'  gwine  tease  you  no  mo'." 

She  bent  her  head  forward  expectantly. 

"  I  had  a  talk  wid  Mas'  Raymond  to-day,"  re 
sumed  Ben. 

"Yes?" 

"  An'  he  say  he  pay  me  all  my  back  money 
fu'  ovahtime." 

"Oh!" 

"An' all  I  gits  right  along  he  gwine  he'p  me 
save,  an'  when  I  git  fo'  hund'ed  dollahs  he  gwine 
gin  me  de  free  papahs  fu'  you,  my  little  gal." 

"Oh,  Ben,  Ben!     Hit  ain'  so,  is  it?" 

"Yes,  hit  is.  Den  you'll  be  you  own  ooman 
— leas' ways  less'n  you  wants  to  be  mine." 

She  went  and  put  her  arms  around  his  neck. 
Her  eyes  were  sparkling  and  her  lips  quivering. 

"  You  don'  mean,  Ben,  dat  I'll  be  free  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you'll  be  free,  Viney.  Den  I's  gwine  to 
set  to  wo'k  an'  buy  my  free  papahs." 

"Oh,  kin  you  do  it — kin  you  do  it— kin  you 
doit?" 

"  Kin  I  do  it?"  he  repeated.  He  stretched  out 
his  arm,  with  the  sleeve  rolled  to  the  shoulder, 


VINEY'S  FREE  PAPERS  59 

and  curved  it  upward  till  the  muscles  stood  out 
like  great  knots  of  oak.  Then  he  opened  and 
shut  his  fingers,  squeezing  them  together  until 
the  joints  cracked.  "  Kin  I  do  it  ?  "  He  looked 
down  on  her  calmly  and  smiled  simply,  happily. 

She  threw  her  arms  around  his  waist  and  sank 
on  her  knees  at  his  feet  sobbing. 

"Ben,  Ben!  My  Ben!  1  nevah  even  thought 
of  it.  Hit  seemed  so  far  away,  but  now  we're 
goin'  to  be  free— free,  free! " 

He  lifted  her  up  gently. 

"It's  gwine  to  tek  a  pow'ful  long  time,"  he 
said. 

"I  don'  keer,"  she  cried  gaily.  "We  know  it's 
comin'  an'  we  kin  wait." 

The  woman's  serious  mood  had  passed  as 
quickly  as  it  had  come,  and  she  spun  around  the 
cabin,  executing  a  series  of  steps  that  set  her 
husband  a-grin  with  admiration  and  joy. 

And  so  Ben  began  to  work  with  renewed 
vigor.  He  had  found  a  purpose  in  life  and  there 
was  something  for  him  to  look  for  beyond  din 
ner,  a  dance  and  the  end  of  the  day.  He  had  al 
ways  been  a  good  hand,  but  now  he  became  a 
model — no  shirking,  no  shiftlessness — and  be 
cause  he  was  so  earnest  his  master  did  what  he 


60  VINEY'S  FREE  PAPERS 

could  to  help  him.  Numerous  little  plans  were 
formulated  whereby  the  slave  could  make  or 
save  a  precious  dollar. 

Viney,  too,  seemed  inspired  by  a  new  hope, 
and  if  this  little  house  had  been  pleasant  to  Ben, 
nothing  now  was  wanting  to  make  it  a  palace  in 
his  eyes.  Only  one  sorrow  he  had,  and  that  one 
wrung  hard  at  his  great  heart — no  baby  came  to 
them — but  instead  he  made  a  great  baby  of  his 
wife,  and  went  on  his  way  hiding  his  disappoint 
ment  the  best  he  could.  The  banjo  was  often 
silent  now,  for  when  he  came  home  his  fingers 
were  too  stiff  to  play;  but  sometimes,  when  his 
heart  ached  for  the  laughter  of  a  child,  he  would 
take  down  his  old  friend  and  play  low,  soothing 
melodies  until  he  found  rest  and  comfort. 

Viney  had  once  tried  to  console  him  by  saying 
that  had  she  had  a  child  it  would  have  taken  her 
away  from  her  work,  but  he  had  only  answered, 
"We  could  a'  stood  that." 

But  Ben's  patient  work  and  frugality  had  their 
reward,  and  it  was  only  a  little  over  three  years 
after  he  had  set  out  to  do  it  that  he  put  in  his 
master's  hand  the  price  of  Viney's  freedom,  and 
there  was  sound  of  rejoicing  in  the  land.  A  fat 
shoat,  honestly  come  by — for  it  was  the  master's 


VINEY'S  FREE  PAPERS  61 

gift — was  killed  and  baked,  great  jugs  of  biting 
persimmon  beer  were  brought  forth,  and  the 
quarters  held  high  carnival  to  celebrate  Viney's 
new-found  liberty. 

After  the  merrymakers  had  gone,  and  when 
the  cabin  was  clear  again,  Ben  held  out  the  paper 
that  had  been  on  exhibition  all  evening  to  Viney. 

"  Hyeah,  hyeah's  de  docyment  dat  meks  you 
yo'  own  ooman.  Tek  it." 

During  all  the  time  that  it  had  been  out  for 
show  that  night  the  people  had  looked  upon  it 
with  a  sort  of  awe,  as  if  it  was  possessed  of 
some  sort  of  miraculous  power.  Even  now 
Viney  did  not  take  hold  of  it,  but  shrunk  away 
with  a  sort  of  gasp. 

"No,  Ben,  you  keep  it.  I  can't  tek  keer  o'  no 
sich  precious  thing  ez  dat.  Put  hit  in  yo'  chist." 

"Tek  hit  and  feel  of  hit,  anyhow,  so's  you'll 
know  dat  you's  free." 

She  took  it  gingerly  between  her  thumb  and 
forefinger.  Ben  suddenly  let  go. 

"Dah,  now,"  he  said;  "you  keep  dat  docy 
ment.  It's  yo's.  Keep  hit  undah  yo'  own  'spon- 
sibility." 

"No,  no,  Ben!  "  she  cried.     "I  jes'  can't!" 

"You  mus'.    Dat's  de  way  to  git  used  to  bein' 


62  VINEY'S  FREE  PAPERS 

free.  Whenevah  you  looks  at  yo'se'f  an'  feels  lak 
you  ain'  no  diff'ent  f'om  whut  you  been  you  tek 
dat  papah  out  an'  look  at  hit,  an'  say  to  yo'se'f, 
'  Dat  means  freedom.' " 

Carefully,  reverently,  silently  Viney  put  the 
paper  into  her  bosom. 

"Now,  de  nex'  t'ing  fu'  me  to  do  is  to  set  out 
to  git  one  dem  papahs  fu'  myse'f.  Hit'll  be  a 
long  try,  'cause  I  can't  buy  mine  so  cheap  as  I  got 
yo's,  dough  de  Lawd  knows  why  a  great  big  ol' 
hunk  lak  me  should  cos'  mo'n  a  precious  mossell 
lak  you." 

"  Hit's  because  dey's  so  much  of  you,  Ben,  an' 
evah  bit  of  you's  wo'th  its  weight  in  gol'." 

"Heish,  chile!  Don'  put  my  valy  so  high,  er 
I'll  be  twell  jedgment  day  a-payin'  hit  off." 

PART  II 

So  Ben  went  forth  to  battle  for  his  own  free 
dom,  undaunted  by  the  task  before  him,  while 
Viney  took  care  of  the  cabin,  doing  what  she 
could  outside.  Armed  with  her  new  dignity,  she 
insisted  upon  her  friends'  recognizing  the  change 
in  her  condition. 

Thus,  when  Mandy  so  far  forgot  herself  as  to 


VINEY'S  FREE  PAPERS  63 

address  her  as  Viney  Raymond,  the  new  free 
woman's  head  went  up  and  she  said  with  wither 
ing  emphasis: 

"Mis'  Viney  Allen,  if  you  please!" 

"Viney  Allen !  "  exclaimed  her  visitor.  "  Huc- 
cum  you's  Viney  Allen  now?" 

"'Cause  I  don'  belong  to  de  Raymonds  no 
mo',  an'  I  kin  tek  my  own  name  now." 

"Ben  'longs  to  de  Raymonds,  an'  his  name 
Ben  Raymond  an'  you  his  wife.  How  you  git 
aroun'  dat,  Mis'  Viney  Allen?" 

"Ben's  name  goin'  to  be  Mistah  Allen  soon's 
he  gits  his  free  papahs." 

"Oomph!  You  done  gone  now!  Yo'naikso 
stiff  you  can't  ha'dly  ben'  it.  I  don'  see  how  dat 
papah  mek  sich  a  change  in  anybody's  actions. 
Yo'  face  ain'  got  no  whitah." 

"No,  but  I's  free,  an'  I  kin  do  as  I  please." 

Mandy  went  forth  and  spread  the  news  that 
Viney  had  changed  her  name  from  Raymond  to 
Allen.  "  She's  Mis'  Viney  Allen,  if  you  please!  " 
was  her  comment.  Great  was  the  indignation 
among  the  older  heads  whose  fathers  and  mothers 
and  grandfathers  before  them  had  been  Ray 
monds.  The  younger  element  was  greatly 
amused  and  took  no  end  of  pleasure  in  repeating 


64  VINEY'S  FREE  PAPERS 

the  new  name  or  addressing  each  other  by  fan 
tastic  cognomens.  Viney's  popularity  did  not  in 
crease. 

Some  rumors  of  this  state  of  things  drifted  to 
Ben's  ears  and  he  questioned  his  wife  about  them. 
She  admitted  what  she  had  done. 

"But,  Viney,"  said  Ben,  "Raymond's  good 
enough  name  fu'  me." 

"Don'  you  see,  Ben,"  she  answered,  "dat  I 
don'  belong  to  de  Raymonds  no  mo',  so  I  ain' 
Viney  Raymond.  Ain'  you  goin'  change  w'en 
you  git  free?" 

"  I  don'  know.  I  talk  about  dat  when  I's  free, 
and  freedom's  a  mighty  long,  weary  way  off 
yet." 

"Evahbody  dat's  free  has  dey  own  name,  an' 
I  ain'  nevah  goin'  feel  free's  long  ez  I's  a-totin' 
aroun'  de  Raymonds'  name." 

"Well,  change  den,"  said  Ben;  "but  wait 
ontwell  I  kin  change  wid  you." 

Viney  tossed  her  head,  and  that  night  she  took 
out  her  free  papers  and  studied  them  long  and 
carefully. 

She  was  incensed  at  her  friends  that  they  would 
not  pay  her  the  homage  that  she  felt  was  due  her. 
She  was  incensed  at  Ben  because  he  would  not 


VINEY'S  FREE  PAPERS  65 

enter  into  her  feelings  about  the  matter.  She 
brooded  upon  her  fancied  injuries,  and  when  a 
chance  for  revenge  came  she  seized  upon  it 
eagerly. 

There  were  two  or  three  free  negro  families  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  Raymond  place,  but  there  had 
been  no  intercourse  between  them  and  the 
neighboring  slaves.  It  was  to  these  people  that 
Viney  now  turned  in  anger  against  her  own 
friends.  It  first  amounted  to  a  few  visits  back 
and  forth,  and  then,  either  because  the  associa 
tion  became  more  intimate  or  because  she  was 
instigated  to  it  by  her  new  companions,  she  re 
fused  to  have  anything  more  to  do  with  the  Ray 
mond  servants.  Boldly  and  without  concealment 
she  shut  the  door  in  Mandy's  face,  and,  hearing 
this,  few  of  the  others  gave  her  a  similar  chance. 

Ben  remonstrated  with  her,  and  she  answered 
him: 

"No,  suh!  I  ain'  goin'  'sociate  wid  slaves!  I's 
free!" 

"But  you  cuttin'  out  yo'  own  husban'." 

"  Dat's  diff'ent.  I's  jined  to  my  husban'."  And 
then  petulantly:  "  I  do  wish  you'd  hu'y  up  an'  git 
yo'  free  papahs,  Ben." 

"Dey'll  be  a  long  time  a-comin',"  he  said; 


66  VINEY'S  FREE  PAPERS 

"yeahs  fom  now.  Mebbe  I'd  abettah  got  mine 
fust." 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  quick,  suspicious 
glance.  When  she  was  alone  again  she  took  her 
papers  and  carefully  hid  them. 

"\'s  free,"  she  whispered  to  herself,  "an'  I 
don'  expec'  to  nevah  be  a  slave  no  mo'." 

She  was  further  excited  by  the  moving  North 
of  one  of  the  free  families  with  which  she  had 
been  associated.  The  emigrants  had  painted 
glowing  pictures  of  the  Eldorado  to  which  they 
were  going,  and  now  Viney's  only  talk  in  the 
evening  was  of  the  glories  of  the  North.  Ben 
would  listen  to  her  unmoved,  until  one  night  she 
said: 

"You  ought  to  go  North  when  you  gits  yo' 
papahs." 

Then  he  had  answered  her,  with  kindling  eyes: 

"No,  I  won't  go  Nawth!  I  was  bo'n  an' 
raised  in  de  Souf,  an'  in  de  Souf  I  stay  ontwell  I 
die.  Ef  I  have  to  go  Nawth  to  injoy  my  freedom 
I  won't  have  it.  I'll  quit  wo'kin  fu'  it." 

Ben  was  positive,  but  he  felt  uneasy,  and  the 
next  day  he  told  his  master  of  the  whole  matter, 
and  Mr.  Raymond  went  down  to  talk  to  Viney. 

She   met   him  with  a  determination  that  sur- 


VINEY'S  FREE  PAPERS  67 

prised  and  angered  him.  To  everything  he  said 
to  her  she  made  but  one  answer:  "I's  got  my 
free  papahs  an'  I's  a-goin'  Nawth." 

Finally  her  former  master  left  her  with  the  re 
mark: 

"Well,  I  don't  care  where  you  go,  but  I'm 
sorry  for  Ben.  He  was  a  fool  for  working  for 
you.  You  don't  half  deserve  such  a  man." 

"I  won'  have  him  long,"  she  flung  after  him, 
with  a  laugh. 

The  opposition  with  which  she  had  met  seemed 
to  have  made  her  more  obstinate,  and  in  spite  of 
all  Ben  could  do,  she  began  to  make  preparations 
to  leave  him.  The  money  for  the  chickens  and 
eggs  had  been  growing  and  was  to  have  gone  to 
ward  her  husband's  ransom,  but  she  finally  sold 
all  her  laying  hens  to  increase  the  amount.  Then 
she  calmly  announced  to  her  husband: 

"I's  got  money  enough  an'  I's  a-goin'  Nawth 
next  week.  You  kin  stay  down  hyeah  an'  be  a 
slave  ef  you  want  to,  but  I's  a-goin'  Nawth." 

"Even  ef  I  wanted  to  go  Nawth  you  know  I 
ain'  half  paid  out  yit." 

"  Well,  I  can't  he'p  it.  I  can't  spen'  all  de  bes' 
pa't  o'  my  life  down  hyeah  where  dey  ain'  no 
Vantages." 


68  VINEY'S  FREE  PAPERS 

"I  reckon  dey's  'vantages  every whah  fu'  any 
body  dat  wants  to  wu'k." 

"Yes,  but  what  kin'  o'  wages  does  yo'  git? 
Why,  de  Johnsons  say  dey  had  a  lettah  f  om  Miss 
Smiff  an'  dey's  gettin'  'long  fine  in  de  Nawth." 

11  De  Johnsons  ain'  gwine  ?  " 

"Si  Johnson  is " 

Then  the  woman  stopped  suddenly. 

"Oh,  hit's  Si  Johnson?    Huh!" 

"  He  ain'  goin'  wid  me.  He's  jes'  goin'  to  see 
dat  I  git  sta'ted  right  aftah  I  git  thaih." 

"  Hit's  Si  Johnson  ?"  he  repeated. 

"  Tain't,"  said  the  woman.     "  Hit's  freedom." 

Ben  got  up  and  went  out  of  the  cabin. 

"Men's  so  'spicious,"  she  said.  "I  ain'  goin' 
Nawth  'cause  Si's  a-goin' — I  ain't." 

When  Mr.  Raymond  found  out  how  matters 
were  really  going  he  went  to  Ben  where  he  was 
at  work  in  the  field. 

"Now,  look  here,  Ben,"  he  said.  "You're 
one  of  the  best  hands  on  my  place  and  I'd  be 
sorry  to  lose  you.  I  never  did  believe  in  this 
buying  business  from  the  first,  but  you  were  so 
bent  on  it  that  I  gave  in.  But  before  I'll  see  her 
cheat  you  out  of  your  money  I'll  give  you  your 
free  papers  now.  You  can  go  North  with  her 


VINEY'S  FREE  PAPERS  69 

and  you  can  pay  me  back  when  you  find 
work." 

''No,"  replied  Ben  doggedly.  "Ef  she  cain't 
wait  fu'  me  she  don'  want  me,  an'  I  won't  foller 
her  erroun'  an'  be  in  de  way." 

"You're  a  fool!  "  said  his  master. 

"I  loves  huh,"  said  the  slave.  And  so  this 
plan  came  to  naught. 

Then  came  the  night  on  which  Viney  was  get 
ting  together  her  belongings.  Ben  sat  in  a  corner 
of  the  cabin  silent,  his  head  bowed  in  his  hands. 
Every  once  in  a  while  the  woman  cast  a  half- 
frightened  glance  at  him.  He  had  never  once 
tried  to  oppose  her  with  force,  though  she  saw 
that  grief  had  worn  lines  into  his  face. 

The  door  opened  and  Si  Johnson  came  in.  He 
had  just  dropped  in  to  see  if  everything  was  all 
right.  He  was  not  to  go  for  a  week. 

"  Let  me  look  at  yo'  free  papahs,"  he  said,  for 
Si  could  read  and  liked  to  show  off  his  accomplish 
ment  at  every  opportunity.  He  stumbled  through 
the  formal  document  to  the  end,  reading  at  the 
last:  "This  is  a  present  from  Ben  to  his  beloved 
wife,  Viney." 

She  held  out  her  hand  for  the  paper.  When 
Si  was  gone  she  sat  gazing  at  it,  trying  in  her 


70  VINEY'S  FREE  PAPERS 

ignorance  to  pick  from  the,  to  her,  senseless 
scrawl  those  last  words.  Ben  had  not  raised  his 
head. 

Still  she  sat  there,  thinking,  and  without  look 
ing  her  mind  began  to  take  in  the  details  of  the 
cabin.  That  box  of  shelves  there  in  the  corner 
Ben  had  made  in  the  first  days  they  were  to 
gether.  Yes,  and  this  chair  on  which  she  was 
sitting— she  remembered  how  they  had  laughed 
over  its  funny  shape  before  he  had  padded  it 
with  cotton  and  covered  it  with  the  piece  of 
linsey  "old  Mis'"  had  given  him.  The  very 
chest  in  which  her  things  were  packed  he  had 
made,  and  when  the  last  nail  was  driven  he  had 
called  it  her  trunk,  and  said  she  should  put  her 
finery  in  it  when  she  went  traveling  like  the 
white  folks.  She  was  going  traveling  now,  and 
Ben — Ben  ?  There  he  sat  across  from  her  in  his 
chair,  bowed  and  broken,  his  great  shoulders 
heaving  with  suppressed  grief. 

Then,  before  she  knew  it,  Viney  was  sobbing, 
and  had  crept  close  to  him  and  put  her  arms 
around  his  neck.  He  threw  out  his  arms  with  a 
convulsive  gesture  and  gathered  her  up  to  his 
breast,  and  the  tears  gushed  from  his  eyes. 

When  the  first  storm  of  weeping  had  passed 


VINEY'S  FREE  PAPERS  71 

Viney  rose  and  went  to  the  fireplace.  She  raked 
forward  the  coals. 

"Ben,"  she  said,  "hit's  been  dese  pleggoned 
free  papahs.  I  want  you  to  see  em  bu'n." 

"No,  no!"  he  said.  But  the  papers  were 
already  curling,  and  in  a  moment  they  were  in  a 
blaze. 

"Thaih,"she  said,  "thaih,  now,  Viney  Ray 
mond!  " 

Ben  gave  a  great  gasp,  then  sprang  forward 
and  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kicked  the  packed 
chest  into  the  corner. 

And  that  night  singing  was  heard  from  Ben's 
cabin  and  the  sound  of  the  banjo. 


THE  FRUITFUL  SLEEPING 

OF  THE  REV.  ELISHA  EDWARDS 


73 


THE  FRUITFUL  SLEEPING  OF  THE  REV. 
ELISHA  EDWARDS 

THERE  was  great  commotion  in  Zion  Church,  a 
body  of  Christian  worshippers,  usually  noted  for 
their  harmony.  But  for  the  last  six  months, 
trouble  had  been  brewing  between  the  congrega 
tion  and  the  pastor.  The  Rev.  Elisha  Edwards 
had  come  to  them  two  years  before,  and  he  had 
given  good  satisfaction  as  to  preaching  and  pas 
toral  work.  Only  one  thing  had  displeased  his 
congregation  in  him,  and  that  was  his  tendency 
to  moments  of  meditative  abstraction  in  the  pul 
pit.  However  much  fire  he  might  have  displayed 
before  a  brother  minister  arose  to  speak,  and  how 
ever  much  he  might  display  in  the  exhortation 
after  the  brother  was  done  with  the  labors  of 
hurling  phillipics  against  the  devil,  he  sat  between 
in  the  same  way,  with  head  bowed  and  eyes 
closed. 

There  were  some  who  held  that  it  was  a  sign 
in  him  of  deep  thoughtfulness,  and  that  he  was 
using  these  moments  for  silent  prayer  and  medi 
tation.  But  others,  less  generous,  said  that  he 
75 


76  THE  FRUITFUL  SLEEPING 

was  either  jealous  of  or  indifferent  to  other 
speakers.  So  the  discussion  rolled  on  about  the 
Rev.  Elisha,  but  it  did  not  reach  him  and  he  went 
on  in  the  same  way  until  one  hapless  day,  one 
tragic,  one  never-to-be-forgotten  day.  While 
Uncle  Isham  Dyer  was  exhorting  the  people  to 
repent  of  their  sins,  the  disclosure  came.  The 
old  man  had  arisen  on  the  wings  of  his  eloquence 
and  was  painting  hell  for  the  sinners  in  the  most 
terrible  colors,  when  to  the  utter  surprise  of  the 
whole  congregation,  a  loud  and  penetrating  snore 
broke  from  the  throat  of  the  pastor  of  the  church. 
It  rumbled  down  the  silence  and  startled  the  con 
gregation  into  sudden  and  indignant  life  like  the 
surprising  cannon  of  an  invading  host.  Horror- 
stricken  eyes  looked  into  each  other,  hands  were 
thrown  into  the  air,  and  heavy  lips  made  round 
O's  of  surprise  and  anger.  This  was  his  medita 
tion.  The  Rev.  Elisha  Edwards  was  asleep! 

Uncle  Isham  Dyer  turned  around  and  looked 
down  on  his  pastor  in  disgust,  and  then  turned 
again  to  his  exhortations,  but  he  was  discon 
certed,  and  soon  ended  lamely. 

As  for  the  Rev.  Elisha  himself,  his  snore  rum 
bled  on  through  the  church,  his  head  drooped 
lower,  until  with  a  jerk,  he  awakened  himself. 


UNCLE    ISHAM    DYER    EXHORTS. 


THE  FRUITFUL  SLEEPING  77 

He  sighed  religiously,  patted  his  foot  upon  the 
floor,  rubbed  his  hands  together,  and  looked 
complacently  over  the  aggrieved  congregation. 
Old  ladies  moaned  and  old  men  shivered,  but  the 
pastor  did  not  know  what  they  had  discovered, 
and  shouted  Amen,  because  he  thought  some 
thing  Uncle  Isham  had  said  was  affecting  them. 
Then,  when  he  arose  to  put  the  cap  sheaf  on  his 
local  brother's  exhortations,  he  was  strong,  fiery, 
eloquent,  but  it  was  of  no  use.  Not  a  cry,  not  a 
moan,  not  an  Amen  could  he  gain  from  his  con 
gregation.  Only  the  local  preacher  himself,  think 
ing  over  the  scene  which  had  just  been  enacted, 
raised  his  voice,  placed  his  hands  before  his  eyes, 
and  murmured,  "Lord  he'p  we  po'  sinnahs!" 

Brother  Edwards  could  not  understand  this  un- 
responsiveness  on  the  part  of  his  people.  They 
had  been  wont  to  weave  and  moan  and  shout 
and  sigh  when  he  spoke  to  them,  and  when,  in 
the  midst  of  his  sermon,  he  paused  to  break  into 
spirited  song,  they  would  join  with  him  until  the 
church  rang  again.  But  this  day,  he  sang  alone, 
and  ominous  glances  were  flashed  from  pew  to 
pew  and  from  aisle  to  pulpit.  The  collection 
that  morning  was  especially  small.  No  one  asked 
the  minister  home  to  dinner,  an  unusual  thing, 


78  THE  FRUITFUL  SLEEPING 

and  so  he  went  his  way,  puzzled  and  wonder 
ing. 

Before  church  that  night,  the  congregation  met 
together  for  conference.  The  exhorter  of  the 
morning  himself  opened  proceedings  by  saying, 
"Brothahs  an'  sistahs,  de  Lawd  has  opened  ouah 
eyes  to  wickedness  in  high  places." 

"Oom — oom — oom,  he  have  opened  ouah 
eyes,"  moaned  an  old  sister. 

"  We  have  been  puhmitted  to  see  de  man  who 
was  intrusted  wid  de  guidance  of  dis  flock 
a-sleepin'  in  de  houah  of  duty,  an'  we  feels 
grieved  ter-night." 

"  He  sholy  were  asleep,"  sister  Hannah  Johnson 
broke  in,  "dey  ain't  no  way  to  'spute  dat,  dat 
man  sholy  were  asleep." 

"I  kin  testify  to  it,"  said  another  sister,  ''I 
p'intly  did  hyeah  him  sno',  an'  I  hyeahed  him 
sno't  w'en  he  waked  up." 

"  An'  we  been  givin'  him  praise  fu'  meditation," 
pursued  Brother  Isham  Dyer,  who  was  only  a 
local  preacher,  in  fact,  but  who  had  designs  on 
ordination,  and  the  pastoring  of  Zion  Church 
himself. 

"  It  ain't  de  sleepin'  itse'f,"  he  went  on,  "  ef  you 
'member  in  de  Gyarden  of  Gethsemane,  endurin' 


THE  FRUITFUL  SLEEPING  79 

de  agony  of  ouah  Lawd,  dem  what  he  tuk  wid 
him  fu'  to  watch  while  he  prayed,  went  to  sleep 
on  his  han's.  But  he  fu'give  'em,  fu'  he  said, 
'  De  sperit  is  willin'  but  de  flesh  is  weak.'  We 
know  dat  dey  is  times  w'en  de  eyes  grow  sandy, 
an'  de  haid  grow  heavy,  an'  we  ain't  accusin' 
ouah  brothah,  nor  a-blamin'  him  fu'  noddin'. 
But  what  we  do  blame  him  fu'  is  fu'  'ceivin'  us, 
an'  mekin'  us  believe  he  was  prayin'  an'  meditatin', 
w'en  he  wasn'  doin'  a  blessed  thing  but  snoozin'." 

"Cat's  it,  dat's  it,"  broke  in  a  chorus  of  voices. 
"  He  'ceived  us,  dat's  what  he  did." 

The  meeting  went  stormily  on,  the  accusation 
and  the  anger  of  the  people  against  the  minister 
growing  more  and  more.  One  or  two  were  for 
dismissing  him  then  and  there,  but  calmer  counsel 
prevailed  and  it  was  decided  to  give  him  another 
trial.  He  was  a  good  preacher  they  had  to  admit. 
He  had  visited  them  when  they  were  sick,  and 
brought  sympathy  to  their  afflictions,  and  a  genial 
presence  when  they  were  well.  They  would 
not  throw  him  over,  without  one  more  chance, 
at  least,  of  vindicating  himself. 

This  was  well  for  the  Rev.  Elisha,  for  with  the 
knowledge  that  he  was  to  be  given  another 
chance,  one  trembling  little  woman,  who  had 


8o  THE  FRUITFUL  SLEEPING 

listened  in  silence  and  fear  to  the  tirades  against 
him,  crept  out  of  the  church,  and  hastened  over 
in  the  direction  of  the  parsonage.  She  met  the 
preacher  coming  toward  the  church,  hymn-book 
in  hand,  and  his  Bible  under  his  arm.  With  a 
gasp,  she  caught  him  by  the  arm,  and  turned  him 
back. 

"Come  hyeah,"  she  said,  "come  hyeah,  dey 
been  talkin'  'bout  you,  an'  I  want  to  tell  you." 

"Why,  Sis'  Dicey,"  said  the  minister  com 
placently,  "  what  is  the  mattah  ?  Is  you  troubled 
in  sperit  ?  " 

"I's  troubled  in  sperit  now,"  she  answered, 
"but  you'll  be  troubled  in  a  minute.  Dey  done 
had  a  church  meetin'  befo'  services.  Dey  foun' 
out  you  was  sleepin'  dis  mornin'  in  de  pulpit. 
You  ain't  only  sno'ed,  but  you  sno'ted,  an'  dey 
'lowin'  to  give  you  one  mo'  trial,  an'  ef  you  falls 
fom  grace  agin,  dey  gwine  ax  you  fu'  to  'sign 
fom  de  pastorship." 

The  minister  staggered  under  the  blow,  and  his 
brow  wrinkled.  To  leave  Zion  Church.  It  would 
be  very  hard.  And  to  leave  there  in  disgrace; 
where  would  he  go  ?  His  career  would  be 
ruined.  The  story  would  go  to  every  church  of 
the  connection  in  the  country,  and  he  would  be 


THE  FRUITFUL  SLEEPING  81 

an  outcast  from  his  cloth  and  his  kind.  He  felt 
that  it  was  all  a  mistake  after  all.  He  loved  his 
work,  and  he  loved  his  people.  He  wanted  to  do 
the  right  thing,  but  oh,  sometimes,  the  chapel 
was  hot  and  the  hours  were  long.  Then  his  head 
would  grow  heavy,  and  his  eyes  would  close,  but 
it  had  been  only  for  a  minute  or  two.  Then, 
this  morning,  he  remembered  how  he  had  tried 
to  shake  himself  awake,  how  gradually,  the  feel 
ing  had  overcome  him.  Then — then — he  had 
snored.  He  had  not  tried  wantonly  to  deceive 
them,  but  the  Book  said,  "  Let  not  thy  right  hand 
know  what  thy  left  hand  doeth."  He  did  not 
think  it  necessary  to  tell  them  that  he  dropped 
into  an  occasional  nap  in  church.  Now,  how 
ever,  they  knew  all. 

He  turned  and  looked  down  at  the  little  woman, 
who  waited  to  hear  what  he  had  to  say. 

"Thankye,  ma'am,  Sis'  Dicey,"  he  said. 
"Thankye,  ma'am.  I  believe  I'll  go  back  an' 
pray  ovah  this  subject."  And  he  turned  and 
went  back  into  the  parsonage. 

Whether  he  had  prayed  over  it  or  whether  he 
had  merely  thought  over  it,  and  made  his  plans 
accordingly,  when  the  Rev.  Elisha  came  into 
church  that  night,  he  walked  with  a  new  spirit. 


82  THE  FRUITFUL  SLEEPING 

There  was  a  smile  on  his  lips,  and  the  light  of 
triumph  in  his  eyes.  Throughout  the  Deacon's 
long  prayer,  his  loud  and  insistent  Amens  pre 
cluded  the  possibility  of  any  sleep  on  his  part. 
His  sermon  was  a  masterpiece  of  fiery  eloquence, 
and  as  Sister  Green  stepped  out  of  the  church 
door  that  night,  she  said,  "  Well,  ef  Brothah  Ed- 
dards  slep'  dis  mornin',  he  sholy  prached  a 
wakenin'  up  sermon  ter-night."  The  congrega 
tion  hardly  remembered  that  their  pastor  had  ever 
been  asleep.  But  the  pastor  knew  when  the  first 
flush  of  enthusiasm  was  over  that  their  minds 
would  revert  to  the  crime  of  the  morning,  and 
he  made  plans  accordingly  for  the  next  Sunday 
which  should  again  vindicate  him  in  the  eyes  of 
his  congregation. 

The  Sunday  came  round,  and  as  he  ascended 
to  the  pulpit,  their  eyes  were  fastened  upon  him 
with  suspicious  glances.  Uncle  Isham  Dyer  had 
a  smile  of  triumph  on  his  face,  because  the  day 
was  a  particularly  hot  and  drowsy  one.  It  was 
on  this  account,  the  old  man  thought,  that  the  Rev. 
Elisha  asked  him  to  say  a  few  words  at  the  open 
ing  of  the  meeting.  "Shirkin'  again,"  said  the 
old  man  to  himself,  "I  reckon  he  wants  to  go 
to  sleep  again,  but  ef  he  don't  sleep  dis  day  to 


THE  FRUITFUL  SLEEPING  83 

his  own  confusion,  I  ain't  hyeah."  So  he  arose, 
and  burst  into  a  wonderful  exhortation  on  the 
merits  of  a  Christian  life. 

He  had  scarcely  been  talking  for  five  minutes, 
when  the  ever  watchful  congregation  saw  the 
pastor's  head  droop,  and  his  eyes  close.  For  the 
next  fifteen  minutes,  little  or  no  attention  was 
paid  to  Brother  Dyer's  exhortation.  The  angry 
people  were  nudging  each  other,  whispering,  and 
casting  indignant  glances  at  the  sleeping  pastor. 
He  awoke  and  sat  up,  just  as  the  exhorter  was 
finishing  in  a  fiery  period.  If  those  who  watched 
him,  were  expecting  to  see  any  embarrassed  look 
on  his  face,  or  show  of  timidity  in  his  eyes,  they 
were  mistaken.  Instead,  his  appearance  was 
one  of  sudden  alertness,  and  his  gaze  that  of  a 
man  in  extreme  exaltation.  One  would  have 
said  that  it  had  been  given  to  him  as  to  the  inspired 
prophets  of  old  to  see  and  to  hear  things  far  and 
beyond  the  ken  of  ordinary  mortals.  As  Brother 
Dyer  sat  down,  he  arose  quickly  and  went  for 
ward  to  the  front  of  the  pulpit  with  a  firm  step. 
Still,  with  the  look  of  exaltation  on  his  face,  he 
announced  his  text,  "  Ef  he  sleep  he  shell  do 
well." 

The  congregation,  which  a  moment  before  had 


84  THE  FRUITFUL  SLEEPING 

been  all  indignation,  suddenly  sprang  into  the 
most  alert  attention.  There  was  a  visible  prick 
ing  up  of  ears  as  the  preacher  entered  into  his 
subject.  He  spoke  first  of  the  benefits  of  sleep, 
what  it  did  for  the  worn  human  body  and  the 
weary  human  soul,  then  turning  off  into  a  half- 
humorous,  half-quizzical  strain,  which  was  often 
in  his  sermons,  he  spoke  of  how  many  times  he 
had  to  forgive  some  of  those  who  sat  before  him 
to-day  for  nodding  in  their  pews;  then  raising 
his  voice,  like  a  good  preacher,  he  came  back  to 
his  text,  exclaiming,  "But  ef  he  sleep,  he  shell 
do  well." 

He  went  on  then,  and  told  of  Jacob's  sleep, 
and  how  at  night,  in  the  midst  of  his  slumbers 
the  visions  of  angels  had  come  to  him,  and  he 
had  left  a  testimony  behind  him  that  was  still  a 
solace  to  their  hearts.  Then  he  lowered  his  voice 
and  said: 

"  You  all  condemns  a  man  when  you  sees  him 
asleep,  not  knowin'  what  visions  is  a-goin'  thoo 
his  mind,  nor  what  feelin's  is  a-goin  thoo  his 
heart.  You  ain't  conside'in'  that  mebbe  he's 
a-doin'  mo'  in  the  soul  wo'k  when  he's  asleep 
then  when  he's  awake.  Mebbe  he  sleep,  w'en 
you  think  he  ought  to  be  up  a-wo'kin'.  Mebbe 


THE  FRUITFUL  SLEEPING  85 

he  slumber  w'en  you  think  he  ought  to  be  up  an' 
erbout.  Mebbe  he  sno'  an'  mebbe  he  sno't,  but 
I'm  a-hyeah  to  tell  you,  in  de  wo'ds  of  the  Book, 
that  they  ain't  no  'sputin'  '  Ef  he  sleep,  he  shell 
do  well! ' 

"Yes,  Lawd!"  "Amen!"  "Sleep  on  Ed- 
'ards!"  some  one  shouted.  The  church  was  in 
smiles  of  joy.  They  were  rocking  to  and  fro 
with  the  ecstasy  of  the  sermon,  but  the  Rev. 
Elisha  had  not  yet  put  on  the  cap  sheaf. 

"  Hoi'  on,"  he  said,  "  befo'  you  shouts  er  befo' 
you  sanctions.  Fu'  you  may  yet  have  to  tu'n  yo' 
backs  erpon  me,  an'  say,  '  Lawd  he'p  the  man! ' 
I's  a-hyeah  to  tell  you  that  many's  the  time  in 
this  very  pulpit,  right  under  yo'  very  eyes,  I  has 
gone  fom  meditation  into  slumber.  But  what 
was  the  reason  ?  Was  I  a-shirkin'  er  was  I  lazy  ?  " 

Shouts  of  "  No!   No!  "  from  the  congregation. 

"No,  no,"  pursued  the  preacher,  "I  wasn't 
a-shirkin'  ner  I  wasn't  a-lazy,  but  the  soul  within 
me  was  a  wo'kin'  wid  the  min',  an'  as  we  all 
gwine  ter  do  some  day  befo'  long,  early  in  de 
mornin',  I  done  fu'git  this  ol'  body.  My  haid 
fall  on  my  breas',  my  eyes  close,  an'  I  see  visions 
of  anothah  day  to  come.  I  see  visions  of  a  new 
Heaven  an'  a  new  earth,  when  we  shell  all  be 


86  THE  FRUITFUL  SLEEPING 

clothed  in  white  raimen',  an'  we  shell  play  ha'ps 
of  gol',  an'  walk  de  golden  streets  of  the  New 
Jerusalem!  That's  what  been  a  runnin'  thoo  my 
min',  w'en  I  set  up  in  the  pulpit  an'  sleep  under 
the  Wo'd;  but  I  want  to  ax  you,  was  I  wrong? 
I  want  to  ax  you,  was  I  sinnin'  ?  I  want  to  p'int 
you  right  hyeah  to  the  Wo'd,  as  it  are  read  out  in 
yo'  hyeahin'  ter-day,  'Ef  he  sleep,  he  shell  do 
well.'" 

The  Rev.  Elisha  ended  his  sermon  amid  the 
smiles  and  nods  and  tears  of  his  congregation. 
No  one  had  a  harsh  word  for  him  now,  and 
even  Brother  Dyer  wiped  his  eyes  and  whispered 
to  his  next  neighbor,  "  Dat  man  sholy  did  sleep 
to  some  pu'pose,"  although  he  knew  that  the 
dictum  was  a  deathblow  to  his  own  pastoral 
hopes.  The  people  thronged  around  the  pastor 
as  he  descended  from  the  pulpit,  and  held  his 
hand  as  they  had  done  of  yore.  One  old  woman 
went  out,  still  mumbling  under  her  breath, 
"  Sleep  on,  Ed'ards,  sleep  on." 

There  were  no  more  church  meetings  after  that, 
and  no  tendency  to  dismiss  the  pastor.  On  the 
contrary,  they  gave  him  a  donation  party  next 
week,  at  which  Sister  Dicey  helped  him  to  re 
ceive  his  guests. 


THE  1NGRATE 


THE  INGRATE 

I 

MR.  LECKLER  was  a  man  of  high  principle.  In 
deed,  he  himself  had  admitted  it  at  times  to  Mrs. 
Leckler.  She  was  often  called  into  counsel  with 
him.  He  was  one  of  those  large  souled  creatures 
with  a  hunger  for  unlimited  advice,  upon  which 
he  never  acted.  Mrs.  Leckler  knew  this,  but  like 
the  good,  patient  little  wife  that  she  was,  she 
went  on  paying  her  poor  tribute  of  advice  and 
admiration.  To-day  her  husband's  mind  was 
particularly  troubled, — as  usual,  too,  over  a  mat 
ter  of  principle.  Mrs.  Leckler  came  at  his  call. 

"Mrs.  Leckler,"  he  said,  " I  am  troubled  in  my 
mind.  I — in  fact,  I  am  puzzled  over  a  matter 
that  involves  either  the  maintaining  or  relinquish 
ing  of  a  principle." 

"Well,  Mr.  Leckler?"  said  his  wife,  interrog 
atively. 

"  If  I  had  been  a  scheming,  calculating  Yankee, 
I  should  have  been  rich  now;  but  all  my  life  I 

have  been  too  generous  and  confiding.     I  have 
89 


90  THE  INGRATE 

always  let  principle  stand  between  me  and  my 
interests."  Mr.  Leckler  took  himself  all  too 
seriously  to  be  conscious  of  his  pun,  and  went 
on:  "Now  this  is  a  matter  in  which  my  duty 
and  my  principles  seem  to  conflict.  It  stands 
thus:  Josh  has  been  doing  a  piece  of  plastering 
for  Mr.  Eckley  over  in  Lexington,  and  from  what 
he  says,  I  think  that  city  rascal  has  misrepresented 
the  amount  of  work  to  me  and  so  cut  down  the 
pay  for  it.  Now,  of  course,  I  should  not  care, 
the  matter  of  a  dollar  or  two  being  nothing  to 
me;  but  it  is  a  very  different  matter  when  we 
consider  poor  Josh."  There  was  deep  pathos  in 
Mr.  Leckler's  tone.  "You  know  Josh  is  anxious 
to  buy  his  freedom,  and  I  allow  him  a  'part  of 
whatever  he  makes;  so  you  see  it's  he  that's 
affected.  Every  dollar  that  he  is  cheated  out  of 
cuts  off  just  so  much  from  his  earnings,  and  puts 
further  away  his  hope  of  emancipation." 

If  the  thought  occurred  to  Mrs.  Leckler  that, 
since  Josh  received  only  about  one-tenth  of  what 
he  earned,  the  advantage  of  just  wages  would  be 
quite  as  much  her  husband's  as  the  slave's,  she 
did  not  betray  it,  but  met  the  naive  reasoning 
with  the  question,  "But  where  does  the  conflict 
come  in,  Mr.  Leckler?" 


THE  INGRATE  91 

"Just  here.  If  Josh  knew  how  to  read  and 
write  and  cipher  — 

"  Mr.  Leckler,  are  you  crazy!  " 

"Listen  to  me,  my  dear,  and  give  me  the 
benefit  of  your  judgment.  This  is  a  very  mo 
mentous  question.  As  I  was  about  to  say,  if 
Josh  knew  these  things,  he  could  protect 
himself  from  cheating  when  his  work  is  at 
too  great  a  distance  for  me  to  look  after  it  for 
him." 

"  But  teaching  a  slave  — 

"  Yes,  that's  just  what  is  against  my  principles. 
I  know  how  public  opinion  and  the  law  look  at 
it.  But  my  conscience  rises  up  in  rebellion 
every  time  I  think  of  that  poor  black  man  being 
cheated  out  of  his  earnings.  Really,  Mrs.  Leck 
ler,  I  think  I  may  trust  to  Josh's  discretion,  and 
secretly  give  him  such  instructions  as  will  permit 
him  to  protect  himself." 

"Well,  of  course,  it's  just  as  you  think  best," 
said  his  wife. 

"I  knew  you  would  agree  with  me,"  he  re 
turned.  "It's  such  a  comfort  to  take  counsel 
with  you,  my  dear!"  And  the  generous  man 
walked  out  on  to  the  veranda,  very  well  satisfied 
with  himself  and  his  wife,  and  prospectively 


92  THE  INGRATE 

pleased  with  Josh.     Once  he  murmured  to  him 
self,  "I'll  lay  for  Eckley  next  time." 

Josh,  the  subject  of  Mr.  Leckler's  charitable  so 
licitations,  was  the  plantation  plasterer.  His 
master  had  given  him  his  trade,  in  order  that  he 
might  do  whatever  such  work  was  needed  about 
the  place;  but  he  became  so  proficient  in  his 
duties,  having  also  no  competition  among  the 
poor  whites,  that  he  had  grown  to  be  in  great 
demand  in  the  country  thereabout.  So  Mr. 
Leckler  found  it  profitable,  instead  of  letting  him 
do  chores  and  field  work  in  his  idle  time,  to  hire 
him  out  to  neighboring  farms  and  planters.  Josh 
was  a  man  of  more  than  ordinary  intelligence; 
and  when  he  asked  to  be  allowed  to  pay  for 
himself  by  working  overtime,  his  master  readily 
agreed, — for  it  promised  more  work  to  be  done, 
for  which  he  could  allow  the  slave  just  what  he 
pleased.  Of  course,  he  knew  now  that  when 
the  black  man  began  to  cipher  this  state  of  affairs 
would  be  changed;  but  it  would  mean  such  an 
increase  of  profit  from  the  outside,  that  he  could 
afford  to  give  up  his  own  little  peculations. 
Anyway,  it  would  be  many  years  before  the 
slave  could  pay  the  two  thousand  dollars,  which 
price  he  had  set  upon  him.  Should  he  approach 


THE  INGRATE  93 

that  figure,  Mr.  Leckler  felt  it  just  possible  that 
the  market  in  slaves  would  take  a  sudden  rise. 

When  Josh  was  told  of  his  master's  intention, 
his  eyes  gleamed  with  pleasure,  and  he  went  to 
his  work  with  the  zest  of  long  hunger.  He 
proved  a  remarkably  apt  pupil.  He  was  inde 
fatigable  in  doing  the  tasks  assigned  him.  Even 
Mr.  Leckler,  who  had  great  faith  in  his  plasterer's 
ability,  marveled  at  the  speed  which  he  had  ac 
quired  the  three  R's.  He  did  not  know  that  on 
one  of  his  many  trips  a  free  negro  had  given  Josh 
the  rudimentary  tools  of  learning,  and  that  since 
the  slave  had  been  adding  to  his  store  of  learning 
by  poring  over  signs  and  every  bit  of  print  that 
he  could  spell  out.  Neither  was  Josh  so  indis 
creet  as  to  intimate  to  his  benefactor  that  he  had 
been  anticipated  in  his  good  intentions. 

It  was  in  this  way,  working  and  learning,  that 
a  year  passed  away,  and  Mr.  Leckler  thought 
that  his  object  had  been  accomplished.  He  could 
safely  trust  Josh  to  protect  his  own  interests,  and 
so  he  thought  that  it  was  quite  time  that  his  serv 
ant's  education  should  cease. 

"You  know,  Josh,"  he  said,  "I  have  already 
gone  against  my  principles  and  against  the  law 
for  your  sake,  and  of  course  a  man  can't  stretch 


94  THE  1NGRATE 

his  conscience  too  far,  even  to  help  another 
who's  being  cheated;  but  I  reckon  you  can  take 
care  of  yourself  now." 

"Oh,  yes,  suh,  I  reckon  I  kin,"  said  Josh. 

"And  it  wouldn't  do  for  you  to  be  seen  with 
any  books  about  you  now." 

"Oh,  no,  suh,  su't'n'y  not."  He  didn't  intend 
to  be  seen  with  any  books  about  him. 

It  was  just  now  that  Mr.  Leckler  saw  the  good 
results  of  all  he  had  done,  and  his  heart  was  full 
of  a  great  joy,  for  Eckley  had  been  building  some 
additions  to  his  house,  and  sent  for  Josh  to  do 
the  plastering  for  him.  The  owner  admonished 
his  slave,  took  him  over  a  few  examples  to 
freshen  his  memory,  and  sent  him  forth  with 
glee.  When  the  job  was  done,  there  was  a  dis 
crepancy  of  two  dollars  in  what  Mr.  Eckley  of 
fered  for  it  and  the  price  which  accrued  from 
Josh's  measurements.  To  the  employer's  sur 
prise,  the  black  man  went  over  the  figures  with 
him  and  convinced  him  of  the  incorrectness  of 
the  payment, — and  the  additional  two  dollars 
were  turned  over. 

"Some  o'  Leckler's  work,"  said  Eckley, 
"teaching  a  nigger  to  cipher!  Close-fisted  old 
reprobate, — I've  a  mind  to  have  the  law  on  him." 


THE  INGRATE  95 

Mr.  Leckler  heard  the  story  with  great  glee. 
"  I  laid  for  him  that  time— the  old  fox."  But  to 
Mrs.  Leckler  he  said:  "  You  see,  my  dear  wife, 
my  rashness  in  teaching  Josh  to  figure  for  him 
self  is  vindicated.  See  what  he  has  saved  for 
himself." 

"What  did  he  save?"  asked  the  little  woman 
indiscreetly. 

Her  husband  blushed  and  stammered  for  a 
moment,  and  then  replied,  "Well,  of  course,  it 
was  only  twenty  cents  saved  to  him,  but  to  a 
man  buying  his  freedom  every  cent  counts;  and 
after  all,  it  is  not  the  amount,  Mrs.  Leckler,  it's 
the  principle  of  the  thing." 

"Yes,"  said  the  lady  meekly. 

II 

UNTO  the  body  it  is  easy  for  the  master  to 
say,  "Thus  far  shalt  thou  go,  and  no  farther." 
Gyves,  chains  and  fetters  will  enforce  that  com 
mand.  But  what  master  shall  say  unto  the  mind, 
"  Here  do  I  set  the  limit  of  your  acquisition.  Pass 
it  not "  ?  Who  shall  put  gyves  upon  the  intel 
lect,  or  fetter  the  movement  of  thought  ?  Joshua 
Leckler,  as  custom  denominated  him,  had  tasted 
of  the  forbidden  fruit,  and  his  appetite  had  grown 


96  THE  INGRATE 

by  what  it  fed  on.  Night  after  night  he  crouched 
in  his  lonely  cabin,  by  the  blaze  of  a  fat  pine 
brand,  poring  over  the  few  books  that  he  had 
been  able  to  secure  and  smuggle  in.  His  fellow- 
servants  alternately  laughed  at  him  and  wondered 
why  he  did  not  take  a  wife.  But  Joshua  went 
on  his  way.  He  had  no  time  for  marrying  or  for 
love;  other  thoughts  had  taken  possession  of 
him.  He  was  being  swayed  by  ambitions  other 
than  the  mere  fathering  of  slaves  for  his  master. 
To  him  his  slavery  was  deep  night.  What  won 
der,  then,  that  he  should  dream,  and  that  through 
the  ivory  gate  should  come  to  him  the  forbidden 
vision  of  freedom  ?  To  own  himself,  to  be  mas 
ter  of  his  hands,  feet,  of  his  whole  body — some 
thing  would  clutch  at  his  heart  as  he  thought  of 
it;  and  the  breath  would  come  hard  between  his 
lips.  But  he  met  his  master  with  an  impassive 
face,  always  silent,  always  docile;  and  Mr.  Leck- 
ler  congratulated  himself  that  so  valuable  and  in 
telligent  a  slave  should  be  at  the  same  time  so 
tractable.  Usually  intelligence  in  a  slave  meant 
discontent;  but  not  so  with  Josh.  Who  more 
content  than  he?  He  remarked  to  his  wife: 
"You see,  my  dear,  this  is  what  comes  of  treat 
ing  even  a  nigger  right." 


THE  INGRATE  97 

Meanwhile  the  white  hills  of  the  North  were 
beckoning  to  the  chattel,  and  the  north  winds 
were  whispering  to  him  to  be  a  chattel  no  longer. 
Often  the  eyes  that  looked  away  to  where  free 
dom  lay  were  filled  with  a  wistful  longing  that 
was  tragic  in  its  intensity,  for  they  saw  the  hard 
ships  and  the  difficulties  between  the  slave  and 
his  goal  and,  worst  of  all,  an  iniquitous  law, — 
liberty's  compromise  with  bondage,  that  rose  like 
a  stone  wall  between  him  and  hope, — a  law  that 
degraded  every  free-thinking  man  to  the  level  of 
a  slave-catcher.  There  it  loomed  up  before  him, 
formidable,  impregnable,  insurmountable.  He 
measured  it  in  all  its  terribleness,  and  paused. 
But  on  the  other  side  there  was  liberty;  and  one 
day  when  he  was  away  at  work,  a  voice  came 
out  of  the  woods  and  whispered  to  him  "  Cour 
age!  " — and  on  that  night  the  shadows  beckoned 
him  as  the  white  hills  had  done,  and  the  forest 
called  to  him,  "Follow." 

"It  seems  to  me  that  Josh  might  have  been 
able  to  get  home  to-night,"  said  Mr.  Leckler, 
walking  up  and  down  his  veranda;  "but  I  reckon 
it's  just  possible  that  he  got  through  too  late  to 
catch  a  train."  In  the  morning  he  said:  "  Well, 
he's  not  here  yet;  he  must  have  had  to  do  some 


98  THE  1NGRATE 

extra  work.     If  he  doesn't  get  here  by  evening, 
I'll  run  up  there." 

In  the  evening,  he  did  take  the  train  for  Josh 
ua's  place  of  employment,  where  he  learned  that 
his  slave  had  left  the  night  before.  But  where 
could  he  have  gone  ?  That  no  one  knew,  and 
for  the  first  time  it  dawned  upon  his  master  that 
Josh  had  run  away.  He  raged;  he  fumed;  but 
nothing  could  be  done  until  morning,  and  all  the 
time  Leckler  knew  that  the  most  valuable  slave 
on  his  plantation  was  working  his  way  toward 
the  North  and  freedom.  He  did  not  go  back 
home,  but  paced  the  floor  all  night  long.  In  the 
early  dawn  he  hurried  out,  and  the  hounds  were 
put  on  the  fugitive's  track.  After  some  nosing 
around  they  set  off  toward  a  stretch  of  woods. 
In  a  few  minutes  they  came  yelping  back,  paw 
ing  their  noses  and  rubbing  their  heads  against 
the  ground.  They  had  found  the  trail,  but  Josh 
had  played  the  old  slave  trick  of  filling  his  tracks 
with  cayenne  pepper.  The  dogs  were  soothed, 
and  taken  deeper  into  the  wood  to  find  the  trail. 
They  soon  took  it  up  again,  and  dashed  away 
with  low  bays.  The  scent  led  them  directly  to  a 
little  wayside  station  about  six  miles  distant. 
Here  it  stopped.  Burning  with  the  chase,  Mr. 


THE  INGRATE  99 

Leckler  hastened  to  the  station  agent.  Had  he 
seen  such  a  negro  ?  Yes,  he  had  taken  the 
northbound  train  two  nights  before. 

"  But  why  did  you  let  him  go  without  a  pass  ?  " 
almost  screamed  the  owner. 

"  I  didn't,"  replied  the  agent.  "  He  had  a  writ 
ten  pass,  signed  James  Leckler,  and  I  let  him  go 
on  it." 

"Forged,  forged!"  yelled  the  master.  "He 
wrote  it  himself." 

"Humph!"  said  the  agent,  "how  was  I  to 
know  that  ?  Our  niggers  round  here  don't  know 
how  to  write." 

Mr.  Leckler  suddenly  bethought  him  to  hold 
his  peace.  Josh  was  probably  now  in  the  arms 
of  some  northern  abolitionist,  and  there  was  noth 
ing  to  be  done  now  but  advertise;  and  the  dis 
gusted  master  spread  his  notices  broadcast  before 
starting  for  home.  As  soon  as  he  arrived  at  his 
house,  he  sought  his  wife  and  poured  out  his 
griefs  to  her. 

"You  see,  Mrs.  Leckler,  this  is  what  comes  of 
my  goodness  of  heart.  I  taught  that  nigger  to 
read  and  write,  so  that  he  could  protect  himself, 
— and  look  how  he  uses  his  knowledge.  Oh,  the 
ingrate,  the  ingrate!  The  very  weapon  which  I 


ioo  THE  INGRATE 

give  him  to  defend  himself  against  others  he  turns 
upon  me.  Oh,  it's  awful, — awful!  I've  always 
been  too  confiding.  Here's  the  most  valuable 
nigger  on  my  plantation  gone, — gone,  I  tell  you, 
—and  through  my  own  kindness.  It  isn't  his 
value,  though,  I'm  thinking  so  much  about.  I 
could  stand  his  loss,  if  it  wasn't  for  the  principle 
of  the  thing,  the  base  ingratitude  he  has  shown 
me.  Oh,  if  I  ever  lay  hands  on  him  again! "  Mr. 
Leckler  closed  his  lips  and  clenched  his  fist  with 
an  eloquence  that  laughed  at  words. 

Just  at  this  time,  in  one  of  the  underground  rail 
way  stations,  six  miles  north  of  the  Ohio,  an  old 
Quaker  was  saying  to  Josh:  "Lie  still, — thee'll 
be  perfectly  safe  there.  Here  comes  John  Trader, 
our  local  slave  catcher,  but  I  will  parley  with  him 
and  send  him  away.  Thee  need  not  fear.  None 
of  thy  brethren  who  have  come  to  us  have  ever 
been  taken  back  to  bondage.  —  Good-evening, 
Friend  Trader!"  and  Josh  heard  the  old  Quaker's 
smooth  voice  roll  on,  while  he  lay  back  half 
smothering  in  a  bag,  among  other  bags  of  corn 
and  potatoes. 

It  was  after  ten  o'clock  that  night  when  he  was 
thrown  carelessly  into  a  wagon  and  driven  away 
to  the  next  station,  twenty-five  miles  to  the 


THE  INGRATE  101 

northward.  And  by  such  stages,  hiding  by  day 
and  traveling  by  night,  helped  by  a  few  of  his 
own  people  who  were  blessed  with  freedom,  and 
always  by  the  good  Quakers  wherever  foun'd,  he 
made  his  way  into  Canada.  And-on.orre:Tipv«r-- 
to-be-forgotten  morning  he  stood  up,  straight 
ened  himself,  breathed  God's  blessed  air,  and 
knew  himself  free! 


Ill 

To  Joshua  Leckler  this  life  in  Canada  was  all 
new  and  strange.  It  was  a  new  thing  for  him  to 
feel  himself  a  man  and  to  have  his  manhood  rec 
ognized  by  the  whites  with  whom  he  came  into 
free  contact.  It  was  new,  too,  this  receiving  the 
full  measure  of  his  worth  in  work.  He  went  to 
his  labor  with  a  zest  that  he  had  never  known 
before,  and  he  took  a  pleasure  in  the  very  weari 
ness  it  brought  him.  Ever  and  anon  there  came 
to  his  ears  the  cries  of  his  brethren  in  the  South. 
Frequently  he  met  fugitives  who,  like  himself, 
had  escaped  from  bondage;  and  the  harrowing 
tales  that  they  told  him  made  him  burn  to  do  some 
thing  for  those  whom  he  had  left  behind  him. 
But  these  fugitives  and  the  papers  he  read  told 


102  THE  INGRATE 

him  other  things.  They  said  that  the  spirit  of 
freedom  was  working  in  the  United  States,  and 
already  men  were  speaking  out  boldly  in  behalf 
of  the- manumission  of  the  slaves;  already  there 
was  a  '^rowing  army  behind  that  noble  vanguard, 
Sumner,  Phillips,  Douglass,  Garrison.  He  heard 
the  names  of  Lucretia  Mott  and  Harriet  Beecher 
Stowe,  and  his  heart  swelled,  for  on  the  dim 
horizon  he  saw  the  first  faint  streaks  of  dawn. 

So  the  years  passed.  Then  from  the  sur 
charged  clouds  a  flash  of  lightning  broke,  and 
there  was  the  thunder  of  cannon  and  the  rain  of 
lead  over  the  land.  From  his  home  in  the  North 
he  watched  the  storm  as  it  raged  and  wavered, 
now  threatening  the  North  with  its  awful  power, 
now  hanging  dire  and  dreadful  over  the  South. 
Then  suddenly  from  out  the  fray  came  a  voice 
like  the  trumpet  tone  of  God  to  him :  "Thou  and 
thy  brothers  are  free!  "  Free,  free,  with  the  free 
dom  not  cherished  by  the  few  alone,  but  for  all 
that  had  been  bound.  Free,  with  the  freedom 
not  torn  from  the  secret  night,  but  open  to  the 
light  of  heaven. 

When  the  first  call  for  colored  soldiers  came, 
Joshua  Leckler  hastened  down  to  Boston,  and  en 
rolled  himself  among  those  who  were  willing  to 


THE  INGRATE  103 

fight  to  maintain  their  freedom.  On  account  of 
his  ability  to  read  and  write  and  his  general  intel 
ligence,  he  was  soon  made  an  orderly  sergeant. 
His  regiment  had  already  taken  part  in  an  en 
gagement  before  the  public  roster  of  this  band  of 
Uncle  Sam's  niggers,  as  they  were  called,  fell  into 
Mr.  Leckler's  hands.  He  ran  his  eye  down  the 
column  of  names.  It  stopped  at  that  of  Joshua 
Leckler,  Sergeant,  Company  F.  He  handed  the 
paper  to  Mrs.  Leckler  with  his  finger  on  the 
place: 

"Mrs.  Leckler,"  he  said,  "this  is  nothing  less 
than  a  judgment  on  me  for  teaching  a  nigger  to 
read  and  write.  I  disobeyed  the  law  of  my  state 
and,  as  a  result,  not  only  lost  my  nigger,  but  fur 
nished  the  Yankees  with  a  smart  officer  to  help 
them  fight  the  South.  Mrs.  Leckler,  I  have  sinned 
—and  been  punished.  But  I  am  content,  Mrs. 
Leckler;  it  all  came  through  my  kindness  of 
heart, — and  your  mistaken  advice.  But,  oh,  that 
ingrate,  that  ingrate!" 


THE  CASE 
OF  'CA'LINE' 


105 


THE  CASE  OF  'CA'LINE' 

A  KITCHEN  MONOLOGUE 

THE  man  of  the  house  is  about  to  go  into  the 
dining-room  when  he  hears  voices  that  tell  him 
that  his  wife  has  gone  down  to  give  the  "  hired 
help  "  a  threatened  going  over.  He  quietly  with 
draws,  closes  the  door  noiselessly  behind  him 
and  listens  from  a  safe  point  of  vantage. 

One  voice  is  timid  and  hesitating;  that  is  his 
wife.  The  other  is  fearlessly  raised;  that  is  her 
majesty,  the  queen  who  rules  the  kitchen,  and 
from  it  the  rest  of  the  house. 

This  is  what  he  overhears: 

"Well,  Mis'  Ma'tin,  hit  do  seem  lak  you  jes' 
bent  an'  boun'  to  be  a-fm'in'  fault  wid  me  w'en 
de  Lawd  knows  I's  doin'  de  ve'y  bes'  I  kin. 
What  'bout  de  brekfus'  ?  De  steak  too  done  an' 
de  'taters  ain't  done  enough!  Now,  Miss  Ma'tin, 
I  jes'  want  to  show  you  I  cooked  dat  steak  an' 
dem  'taters  de  same  lengt'  o'  time.  Seems  to  me 

dey  ought  to  be  done  de  same.     Dat  uz  a  thick 
107 


io8  THE  CASE  OF  'CA'LINE' 

steak,  an'  I  jes'  got  hit  browned  thoo  nice. 
What  mo'd  you  want  ? 

"You  didn't  want  it  fried  at  all?  Now,  Mis' 
Ma'tin,  'clan  to  goodness!  Who  evah  hyeah  de 
beat  o'  dat  ?  Don't  you  know  dat  fried  meat  is 
de  bes'  kin'  in  de  worl'  ?  W'y,  de  las'  fambly 
dat  I  lived  wid — dat  uz  ol'  Jedge  Johnson— he  said 
dat  I  beat  anybody  fryin'  he  evah  seen;  said  I 
fried  evahthing  in  sight,  an'  he  said  my  fried  food 
stayed  by  him  longer  than  anything  he  evah  e't. 
Even  w'en  he  paid  me  off  he  said  it  was  'case  he 
thought  somebody  else  ought  to  have  de  benefit 
of  my  wunnerful  powahs.  Huh,  ma'am,  I's  used 
to  de  bes'.  De  Jedge  paid  me  de  highes'  kin'  o' 
comperments.  De  las'  thing  he  say  to  me  was, 
'Ca'line,  Ca'line/  he  say,  *yo'  cookin'  is  a  pa'dox. 
It  is  crim'nal,  dey  ain't  no  'sputin'  dat,  but  it 
ain't  action'ble.'  Co'se,  I  didn't  unnerstan'  his 
langidge,  but  I  knowed  hit  was  comperments, 
'case  his  wife,  Mis'  Jedge  Johnson,  got  right 
jealous  an'  told  him  to  shet  his  mouf. 

"Dah  you  goes.  Now,  who'd  'a'  thought  dat 
a  lady  of  yo'  raisin'  an  unnerstannin'  would  'a' 
brung  dat  up.  De  mo'nin'  you  come  an'  ketch 
me  settin'  down  an'  de  brekfus  not  ready,  I  was 
a-steadyin'.  I's  a  mighty  han'  to  steady,  Mis' 


THE  CASE  OF  'CA'LINE'  109 

Ma'tin.  'Deed  I  steadies  mos'  all  de  time.  But 
dat  mo'nin'  I  got  to  steadyin'  an'  aftah  while  I  sot 
down  an'  all  my  troubles  come  to  my  min'.  I 
sho'  has  a  heap  o'  trouble.  I  jes'  sot  thaih 
a-steadyin'  'bout  'em  an'  a-steadyin'  tell  bime-by, 
hyeah  you  comes. 

"No,  ma'am,  I  wasn't 'sleep.  I's  mighty  apt 
to  nod  w'en  I's  a-thinkin'.  It's  a  kin'  o'  keepin' 
time  to  my  idees.  But  bless  yo'  soul  I  wasn't 
'sleep.  I  shets  my  eyes  so's  to  see  to  think 
bettah.  An'  aftah  all,  Mistah  Ma'tin  wasn't  mo'  'n 
half  an  houah  late  dat  mo'nin'  nohow,  'case  w'en 
I  did  git  up  I  sholy  flew.  Ef  you  jes'  'membahs 
'bout  my  steadyin'  we  ain't  nevah  gwine  have  no 
trouble  long's  I  stays  hyeah. 

"  You  say  dat  one  night  I  stayed  out  tell  one 
o'clock.  W'y— oh,  yes.  Dat  uz  Thu'sday  night. 
W'y  la!  Mis'  Ma'tin,  dat's  de  night  my  s'ciety 
meets,  de  Af'Ame'ican  Sons  an'  Daughtahs  of 
Judah.  We  had  to  'nitianate  a  new  can'date  dat 
night,  an'  la!  I  wish  you'd  'a'  been  thaih,  you'd 
'a*  killed  yo'self  a-laffm'. 

"You  nevah  did  see  sich  ca'in's  on  in  all  yo' 
bo'n  days.  It  was  pow'ful  funny.  Broth' 
Eph'am  Davis,  he's  ouah  Mos'  Wusshipful  Rabbi, 
he  says  hit  uz  de  mos'  s'cessful  'nitination  we 


1 10  THE  CASE  OF  « CA'LINE ' 

evah  had.  Dat  can'date  pawed  de  groun'  lak  a 
boss  an'  tried  to  git  outen  de  winder.  But  I  got 
to  be  mighty  keerful  how  I  talk:  I  do'  know 
whethah  you  'long  to  any  secut  s'cieties  er  not. 
I  wouldn't  been  so  late  even  fu'  dat,  but  Mistah 
Hi'am  Smif,  he  gallanted  me  home  an'  you  know 
a  lady  boun'  to  stan'  at  de  gate  an'  talk  to  huh 
comp'ny  a  little  while.  You  know  how  it  is, 
Mis'  Ma'tin. 

"I  been  en'tainin'  my  comp'ny  in  depa'lor? 
Co'se  I  has;  you  wasn't  usin'  it.  What  you 
s'pose  my  frien's  'u'd  think  ef  I'd  ax  'em  in  de 
kitchen  w'en  dey  wasn't  no  one  in  de  front 
room  ?  Co'se  I  ax  'em  in  de  pa'lor.  I  do'  want  my 
frien's  to  think  1's  wo'kin'  fu'  no  low-down  peo 
ple.  W'y,  Miss  'Liza  Harris  set  down  an'  played 
mos'  splendid  on  yo'  pianna,  an'  she  comper- 
mented  you  mos'  high.  S'pose  I'd  a  tuck  huh  in 
de  kitchen,  whaih  de  comperments  come  in  ? 

"  Yass'm,  yass'm,  I  does  tek  home  little  things 
now  an'  den,  dat  I  does,  an'  I  ain't  gwine  to  'ny  it. 
I  jes'  says  to  myse'f,  I  ain't  wo'kin'  fu'  no 
strainers  lak  de  people  nex'  do',  what  goes  into 
tantrums  ef  de  lady  what  cooks  fu'  'em  teks 
home  a  bit  o'  sugar.  I  'lows  to  myse'f  I  ain't 
wo'kin'  fu'  no  sich  folks;  so  sometimes  I  teks 


THE  CASE  OF  'CA'LINE'  in 

home  jes'  a  weenchy  bit  o'  somep'n'  dat  nobody 
couldn't  want  nohow,  an'  I  knows  you  ain't 
gwine  'ject  to  dat.  You  do  'ject,  you  do  'ject! 
Huh! 

"I's  got  to  come  an'  ax  you,  has  I?  Look 
a-hyeah,  Mis'  Ma'tin,  I  know  I  has  to  wo'k  in  yo' 
kitchen.  I  know  I  has  to  cook  fu'  you,  but  I 
want  you  to  know  dat  even  ef  I  does  I's  a  lady. 
I's  a  lady,  but  I  see  you  do'  know  how  to  'pre 
date  a  lady  w'en  you  meets  one.  You  kin  jes' 
light  in  an'  git  yo'  own  dinner.  I  wouldn't  wo'k 
fu'  you  ef  you  uz  made  o'  gol'.  I  nevah  did  lak 
to  wo'k  fu'  strainers,  nohow. 

"No,  ma'am,  I  cain't  even  stay  an'  git  de  din 
ner.  I  know  w'en  I  been  insulted.  Seems  lak 
ef  I  stay  in  hyeah  another  minute  I'll  bile  all  over 
dis  kitchen. 

"  Who  excited  ?  Me  excited  ?  No,  I  ain't  ex 
cited.  I's  mad.  I  do'  lak  nobody  pesterin' 
'roun'  my  kitchen,  nohow,  huh,  uh,  honey. 
Too  many  places  in  dis  town  waitin'  fu'  Ca'line 
Mason. 

"No,  indeed,  you  needn't  'pologize  to  me! 
needn't  'pologize  to  me.  I  b'lieve  in  people 
sayin'  jes'  what  dey  mean,  I  does. 

"Would   I   stay,  ef  you  'crease  my  wages? 


ii2  THE  CASE  OF  'CA'LINE' 

Well— I  reckon  I  could,  but  I — but  I  do'  want  no 
foolishness." 

(Sola.)  "Huh!  Did  she  think  she  was 
gwine  to  come  down  hyeah  an'  skeer  me,  huh, 
uh  ?  Whaih's  dat  fryin'  pan  ?" 

The  man  of  the  house  hears  the  rustle  of  his 
wife's  skirts  as  she  beats  a  retreat  and  he  goes 
upstairs  and  into  the  library  whistling,  "See, 
the  Conquering  Hero  Comes." 


THE  FINISH  OF 
PATSY  BARNES 


THE  FINISH  OF  PATSY  BARNES 

His  name  was  Patsy  Barnes,  and  he  was  a 
denizen  of  Little  Africa.  In  fact,  he  lived  on 
Douglass  Street.  By  all  the  laws  governing  the 
relations  between  people  and  their  names,  he 
should  have  been  Irish — but  he  was  not.  He  was 
colored,  and  very  much  so.  That  was  the  reason 
he  lived  on  Douglass  Street.  The  negro  has  very 
strong  within  him  the  instinct  of  colonization 
and  it  was  in  accordance  with  this  that  Patsy's 
mother  had  found  her  way  to  Little  Africa  when 
she  had  come  North  from  Kentucky. 

Patsy  was  incorrigible.  Even  into  the  confines 
of  Little  Africa  had  penetrated  the  truant  officer 
and  the  terrible  penalty  of  the  compulsory  edu 
cation  law.  Time  and  time  again  had  poor  Eliza 
Barnes  been  brought  up  on  account  of  the  short 
comings  of  that  son  of  hers.  She  was  a  hard 
working,  honest  woman,  and  day  by  day  bent 
over  her  tub,  scrubbing  away  to  keep  Patsy  in 
shoes  and  jackets,  that  would  wear  out  so  much 
faster  than  they  could  be  bought.  But  she  never 
murmured,  for  she  loved  the  boy  with  a  deep 


n6      THE  FINISH  OF  PATSY  BARNES 

affection,  though  his  misdeeds  were  a  sore  thorn 
in  her  side. 

She  wanted  him  to  go  to  school.  She  wanted 
him  to  learn.  She  had  the  notion  that  he  might 
become  something  better,  something  higher  than 
she  had  been.  But  for  him  school  had  no 
charms  ;  his  school  was  the  cool  stalls  in  the  big 
livery  stable  near  at  hand  ;  the  arena  of  his  pur 
suits  its  sawdust  floor  ;  the  height  of  his  ambition, 
to  be  a  horseman.  Either  here  or  in  the  racing 
stables  at  the  Fair-grounds  he  spent  his  truant 
hours.  It  was  a  school  that  taught  much,  and 
Patsy  was  as  apt  a  pupil  as  he  was  a  constant  at 
tendant.  He  learned  strange  things  about  horses, 
and  fine,  sonorous  oaths  that  sounded  eerie  on 
his  young  lips,  for  he  had  only  turned  into  his 
fourteenth  year. 

A  man  goes  where  he  is  appreciated  ;  then 
could  this  slim  black  boy  be  blamed  for  doing  the 
same  thing  ?  He  was  a  great  favorite  with  the 
horsemen,  and  picked  up  many  a  dime  or  nickel 
for  dancing  or  singing,  or  even  a  quarter  for 
warming  up  a  horse  for  its  owner.  He  was  not 
to  be  blamed  for  this,  for,  first  of  all,  he  was 
born  in  Kentucky,  and  had  spent  the  very  days 
of  his  infancy  about  the  paddocks  near  Lexing- 


THE  FINISH  OF  PATSY  BARNES      117 

ton,  where  his  father  had  sacrificed  his  life  on 
account  of  his  love  for  horses.  The  little  fellow 
had  shed  no  tears  when  he  looked  at  his  father's 
bleeding  body,  bruised  and  broken  by  the  fiery 
young  two-year-old  he  was  trying  to  subdue. 
Patsy  did  not  sob  or  whimper,  though  his  heart 
ached,  for  over  all  the  feeling  of  his  grief  was  a 
mad,  burning  desire  to  ride  that  horse. 

His  tears  were  shed,  however,  when,  actuated 
by  the  idea  that  times  would  be  easier  up  North, 
they  moved  to  Dalesford.  Then,  when  he 
learned  that  he  must  leave  his  old  friends,  the 
horses  and  their  masters,  whom  he  had  known, 
he  wept.  The  comparatively  meagre  appoint 
ments  of  the  Fair-grounds  at  Dalesford  proved  a 
poor  compensation  for  all  these.  For  the  first 
few  weeks  Patsy  had  dreams  of  running  away — 
back  to  Kentucky  and  the  horses  and  stables. 
Then  after  a  while  he  settled  himself  with  heroic 
resolution  to  make  the  best  of  what  he  had,  and 
with  a  mighty  effort  took  up  the  burden  of  life 
away  from  his  beloved  home. 

Eliza  Barnes,  older  and  more  experienced 
though  she  was,  took  up  her  burden  with  a  less 
cheerful  philosophy  than  her  son.  She  worked 
hard,  and  made  a  scanty  livelihood,  it  is  true, 


n8     THE  FINISH  OF  PATSY  BARNES 

but  she  did  not  make  the  best  of  what  she  had. 
Her  complainings  were  loud  in  the  land,  and  her 
wailings  for  her  old  home  smote  the  ears  of  any 
who  would  listen  to  her. 

They  had  been  living  in  Dalesford  for  a  year 
nearly,  when  hard  work  and  exposure  brought 
the  woman  down  to  bed  with  pneumonia.  They 
were  very  poor— too  poor  even  to  call  in  a  doc 
tor,  so  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  call  in  the 
city  physician.  Now  this  medical  man  had  too 
frequent  calls  into  Little  Africa,  and  he  did  not 
like  to  go  there.  So  he  was  very  gruff  when  any 
of  its  denizens  called  him,  and  it  was  even  said 
that  he  was  careless  of  his  patients. 

Patsy's  heart  bled  as  he  heard  the  doctor  talk 
ing  to  his  mother  : 

"Now,  there  can't  be  any  foolishness  about 
this,"  he  said.  "You've  got  to  stay  in  bed  and 
not  get  yourself  damp." 

"How  long  you  think  I  got  to  lay  hyeah, 
doctah  ?  "  she  asked. 

"I'm  a  doctor,  not  a  fortune-teller,"  was  the 
reply.  "You'll  lie  there  as  long  as  the  disease 
holds  you." 

"  But  I  can't  lay  hyeah  long,  doctah,  case  I  ain't 
got  nuffin'  to  go  on." 


THE  FINISH  OF  PATSY  BARNES      119 

"Well,  take  your  choice:  the  bed  or  the  bone- 
yard." 

Eliza  began  to  cry. 

"You  needn't  sniffle,"  said  the  doctor;  "I 
don't  see  what  you  people  want  to  come  up  here 
for  anyhow.  Why  don't  you  stay  down  South 
where  you  belong?  You  come  up  here  and 
you're  just  a  burden  and  a  trouble  to  the  city. 
The  South  deals  with  all  of  you  better,  both  in 
poverty  and  crime."  He  knew  that  these  people 
did  not  understand  him,  but  he  wanted  an  outlet 
for  the  heat  within  him. 

There  was  another  angry  being  in  the  room, 
and  that  was  Patsy.  His  eyes  were  full  of  tears 
that  scorched  him  and  would  not  fall.  The 
memory  of  many  beautiful  and  appropriate  oaths 
came  to  him;  but  he  dared  not  let  his  mother 
hear  him  swear.  Oh!  to  have  a  stone — to  be 
across  the  street  from  that  man ! 

When  the  physician  walked  out,  Patsy  went  to 
the  bed,  took  his  mother's  hand,  and  bent  over 
shamefacedly  to  kiss  her.  He  did  not  know  that 
with  that  act  the  Recording  Angel  blotted  out 
many  a  curious  damn  of  his. 

The  little  mark  of  affection  comforted  Eliza  un 
speakably.  The  mother-feeling  overwhelmed 


120     THE  FINISH  OF  PATSY  BARNES 

her  in  one  burst  of  tears.  Then  she  dried  her 
eyes  and  smiled  at  him. 

''Honey,"  she  said;  "mammy  ain'  gwine  lay 
hyeah  long.  She  be  all  right  putty  soon." 

"Nevah  you  min',"  said  Patsy  with  a  choke  in 
his  voice.  "I  can  do  somep'n',  an'  we'll  have 
anothah  doctah." 

"  La,  listen  at  de  chile;  what  kin  you  do  ?" 

"  I'm  goin'  down  to  McCarthy's  stable  and  see 
if  I  kin  git  some  horses  to  exercise." 

A  sad  look  came  into  Eliza's  eyes  as  she  said: 
"You'd  bettah  not  go,  Patsy;  dem  hosses '11  kill 
you  yit,  des  lak  dey  did  yo'  pappy." 

But  the  boy,  used  to  doing  pretty  much  as  he 
pleased,  was  obdurate,  and  even  while  she  was 
talking,  put  on  his  ragged  jacket  and  left  the 
room. 

Patsy  was  not  wise  enough  to  be  diplomatic. 
He  went  right  to  the  point  with  McCarthy,  the 
liveryman. 

The  big  red-faced  fellow  slapped  him  until  he 
spun  round  and  round.  Then  he  said,  "  Ye  little 
devil,  ye,  I've  a  mind  to  knock  the  whole  head 
off  o'  ye.  Ye  want  harses  to  exercise,  do  ye  ? 
Well  git  on  that  'un,  an'  see  what  ye  kin  do  with 
him." 


THE  FINISH  OF  PATSY  BARNES      121 

The  boy's  honest  desire  to  be  helpful  had 
tickled  the  big,  generous  Irishman's  peculiar 
sense  of  humor,  and  from  now  on,  instead  of 
giving  Patsy  a  horse  to  ride  now  and  then  as  he 
had  formerly  done,  he  put  into  his  charge  all  the 
animals  that  needed  exercise. 

It  was  with  a  king's  pride  that  Patsy  marched 
home  with  his  first  considerable  earnings. 

They  were  small  yet,  and  would  go  for  food 
rather  than  a  doctor,  but  Eliza  was  inordinately 
proud,  and  it  was  this  pride  that  gave  her  strength 
and  the  desire  of  life  to  carry  her  through  the 
days  approaching  the  crisis  of  her  disease. 

As  Patsy  saw  his  mother  growing  worse,  saw 
her  gasping  for  breath,  heard  the  rattling  as  she 
drew  in  the  little  air  that  kept  going  her  clogged 
lungs,  felt  the  heat  of  her  burning  hands,  and  saw 
the  pitiful  appeal  in  her  poor  eyes,  he  became 
convinced  that  the  city  doctor  was  not  helping 
her.  She  must  have  another.  But  the  money  ? 

That  afternoon,  after  his  work  with  McCarthy, 
found  him  at  the  Fair-grounds.  The  spring  races 
were  on,  and  he  thought  he  might  get  a  job 
warming  up  the  horse  of  some  independent 
jockey.  He  hung  around  the  stables,  listening  to 
the  talk  of  men  he  knew  and  some  he  had  never 


122      THE  FINISH  OF  PATSY  BARNES 

seen  before.  Among  the  latter  was  a  tall,  lanky 
man,  holding  forth  to  a  group  of  men. 

"No,  sun,"  he  was  saying  to  them  generally, 
"I'm  goin'  to  withdraw  my  hoss,  because  thaih 
ain't  nobody  to  ride  him  as  he  ought  to  be  rode. 
I  haven't  brought  a  jockey  along  with  me,  so  I've 
got  to  depend  on  pick-ups.  Now,  the  talent's 
set  agin  my  hoss,  Black  Boy,  because  he's  been 
losin'  regular,  but  that  hoss  has  lost  for  the  want 
of  ridin',  that's  all." 

The  crowd  looked  in  at  the  slim-legged,  raw- 
boned  horse,  and  walked  away  laughing. 

"The  fools!"  muttered  the  stranger.  "If  I 
could  ride  myself  I'd  show  'em! " 

Patsy  was  gazing  into  the  stall  at  the  horse. 

"  What  are  you  doing  thaih,"  called  the  owner 
to  him. 

"Look  hyeah,  mistah,"  said  Patsy,  "ain't  that 
a  bluegrass  hoss  ?  " 

"Of  co'se  it  is,  an'  one  o'  the  fastest  that  evah 
grazed." 

"I'll  ride  that  hoss,  mistah." 

"What  do  you  know  'bout  ridin'  ?" 

"I  used  to  gin'ally  be'  roun'  Mistah  Boone's 
paddock  in  Lexington,  an' " 

"Aroun'  Boone's  paddock — what!     Look  here, 


THE  FINISH  OF  PATSY  BARNES      123 

little  nigger,  if  you  can  ride  that  boss  to  a  winnin' 
I'll  give  you  more  money  than  you  ever  seen  be 
fore." 

"  I'll  ride  him." 

Patsy's  heart  was  beating  very  wildly  beneath 
his  jacket.  That  horse.  He  knew  that  glossy 
coat.  He  knew  that  raw-boned  frame  and  those 
flashing  nostrils.  That  black  horse  there  owed 
something  to  the  orphan  he  had  made. 

The  horse  was  to  ride  in  the  race  before  the 
last.  Somehow  out  of  odds  and  ends,  his  owner 
scraped  together  a  suit  and  colors  for  Patsy.  The 
colors  were  maroon  and  green,  a  curious  combi 
nation.  But  then  it  was  a  curious  horse,  a  curious 
rider,  and  a  more  curious  combination  that  brought 
the  two  together. 

Long  before  the  time  for  the  race  Patsy  went 
into  the  stall  to  become  better  acquainted  with 
his  horse.  The  animal  turned  its  wild  eyes  upon 
him  and  neighed.  He  patted  the  long,  slender 
head,  and  grinned  as  the  horse  stepped  aside  as 
gently  as  a  lady. 

"He  sholy  is  full  o'  ginger,"  he  said  to  the 
owner,  whose  name  he  had  found  to  be  Brackett. 

"  He'll  show  'em  a  thing  or  two,"  laughed 
Brackett, 


124     THE  FINISH  OF  PATSY  BARNES 

"  His  dam  was  a  fast  one,"  said  Patsy,  uncon 
sciously. 

Brackett  whirled  on  him  in  a  flash.  "What 
do  you  know  about  his  dam  ?"  he  asked. 

The  boy  would  have  retracted,  but  it  was  too 
late.  Stammeringly  he  told  the  story  of  his  father's 
death  and  the  horse's  connection  therewith. 

"Well,"  said  Brackett,  "if  you  don't  turn  out 
a  hoodoo,  you're  a  winner,  sure.  But  I'll  be 
blessed  if  this  don't  sound  like  a  story!  But  I've 
heard  that  story  before.  The  man  I  got  Black 
Boy  from,  no  matter  how  I  got  him,  you're  too 
young  to  understand  the  ins  and  outs  of  poker, 
told  it  to  me." 

When  the  bell  sounded  and  Patsy  went  out  to 
warm  up,  he  felt  as  if  he  were  riding  on  air. 
Some  of  the  jockeys  laughed  at  his  get-up,  but 
there  was  something  in  him — or  under  him, 
maybe — that  made  him  scorn  their  derision.  He 
saw  a  sea  of  faces  about  him,  then  saw  no  more. 
Only  a  shining  white  track  loomed  ahead  of  him, 
and  a  restless  steed  was  cantering  with  him 
around  the  curve.  Then  the  bell  called  him  back 
to  the  stand. 

They  did  not  get  away  at  first,  and  back  they 
trooped.  A  second  trial  was  a  failure.  But  at 


THE  FINISH  OF  PATSY  BARNES      125 

the  third  they  were  off  in  a  line  as  straight  as 
a  chalk-mark.  There  were  Essex  and  Firefly, 
Queen  Bess  and  Mosquito,  galloping  away  side 
by  side,  and  Black  Boy  a  neck  ahead.  Patsy 
knew  the  family  reputation  of  his  horse  for  en 
durance  as  well  as  fire,  and  began  riding  the  race 
from  the  first.  Black  Boy  came  of  blood  that 
would  not  be  passed,  and  to  this  his  rider  trusted. 
At  the  eighth  the  line  was  hardly  broken,  but  as 
the  quarter  was  reached  Black  Boy  had  forged  a 
length  ahead,  and  Mosquito  was  at  his  flank. 
Then,  like  a  flash,  Essex  shot  out  ahead  under 
whip  and  spur,  his  jockey  standing  straight  in  the 
stirrups. 

The  crowd  in  the  stand  screamed;  but  Patsy 
smiled  as  he  lay  low  over  his  horse's  neck.  He 
saw  that  Essex  had  made  her  best  spurt.  His 
only  fear  was  for  Mosquito,  who  hugged  and 
hugged  his  flank.  They  were  nearing  the  three- 
quarter  post,  and  he  was  tightening  his  grip  on 
the  black.  Essex  fell  back;  his  spurt  was  over. 
The  whip  fell  unheeded  on  his  sides.  The  spurs 
dug  him  in  vain. 

Black  Boy's  breath  touches  the  leader's  ear. 
They  are  neck  and  neck — nose  to  nose.  The 
black  stallion  passes  him. 


126      THE  FINISH  OF  PATSY  BARNES 

Another  cheer  from  the  stand,  and  again  Patsy 
smiles  as  they  turn  into  the  stretch.  Mosquito 
has  gained  a  head.  The  colored  boy  flashes 
one  glance  at  the  horse  and  rider  who  are  so 
surely  gaining  upon  him,  and  his  lips  close 
in  a  grim  line.  They  are  half-way  down  the 
stretch,  and  Mosquito's  head  is  at  the  stallion's 
neck. 

For  a  single  moment  Patsy  thinks  of  the  sick 
woman  at  home  and  what  that  race  will  mean  to 
her,  and  then  his  knees  close  against  the  horse's 
sides  with  a  firmer  dig.  The  spurs  shoot  deeper 
into  the  steaming  flanks.  Black  Boy  shall  win; 
he  must  win.  The  horse  that  has  taken  away  his 
father  shall  give  him  back  his  mother.  The  stal 
lion  leaps  away  like  a  flash,  and  goes  under  the 
wire — a  length  ahead. 

Then  the  band  thundered,  and  Patsy  was  off 
his  horse,  very  warm  and  very  happy,  following 
his  mount  to  the  stable.  There,  a  little  later, 
Brackett  found  him.  He  rushed  to  him,  and 
flung  his  arms  around  him. 

"You  little  devil,"  he  cried,  "you  rode  like 
you  were  kin  to  that  hoss!  We've  won! 
We've  won!"  And  he  began  sticking  bank 
notes  at  the  boy.  At  first  Patsy's  eyes  bulged, 


THE  FINISH  OF  PATSY  BARNES      127 

and  then  he  seized  the  money  and  got  into  his 
clothes. 

"Coin'  out  to  spend  it?"  asked  Brackett. 

"I'm  goin'  for  a  doctah  fu'  my  mother,"  said 
Patsy,  "  she's  sick." 

"  Don't  let  me  lose  sight  of  you." 

"Oh,  I'll  see  you  again.  So  long,"  said  the 
boy. 

An  hour  later  he  walked  into  his  mother's  room 
with  a  very  big  doctor,  the  greatest  the  druggist 
could  direct  him  to.  The  doctor  left  his  medi 
cines  and  his  orders,  but,  when  Patsy  told  his 
story,  it  was  Eliza's  pride  that  started  her  on  the 
road  to  recovery.  Patsy  did  not  tell  his  horse's 
name. 


ONE  MAN'S 
FORTUNES 


129 


ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES 
PART  I 

WHEN  Bertram  Halliday  left  the  institution 
which,  in  the  particular  part  of  the  middle  west 
where  he  was  born,  was  called  the  state  univer 
sity,  he  did  not  believe,  as  young  graduates  are 
reputed  to,  that  he  had  conquered  the  world  and 
had  only  to  come  into  his  kingdom.  He  knew 
that  the  battle  of  life  was,  in  reality,  just  begin 
ning  and,  with  a  common  sense  unusual  to  his 
twenty-three  years  but  born  out  of  the  exigencies 
of  a  none-too-easy  life,  he  recognized  that  for 
him  the  battle  would  be  harder  than  for  his  white 
comrades. 

Looking  at  his  own  position,  he  saw  himself 
the  member  of  a  race  dragged  from  complacent 
savagery  into  the  very  heat  and  turmoil  of  a  civ 
ilization  for  which  it  was  in  nowise  prepared ; 
bowed  beneath  a  yoke  to  which  its  shoulders 
were  not  fitted,  and  then,  without  warning,  thrust 
forth  into  a  freedom  as  absurd  as  it  was  startling 
and  overwhelming.  And  yet,  he  felt,  as  most 
young  men  must  feel,  an  individual  strength  that 


132  ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES 

would  exempt  him  from  the  workings  of  the 
general  law.  His  outlook  on  life  was  calm  and 
unfrightened.  Because  he  knew  the  dangers  that 
beset  his  way,  he  feared  them  less.  He  felt  as 
sured  because  with  so  clear  an  eye  he  saw  the 
weak  places  in  his  armor  which  the  world  he 
was  going  to  meet  would  attack,  and  these  he  was 
prepared  to  strengthen.  Was  it  not  the  fault  of 
youth  and  self-confessed  weakness,  he  thought, 
to  go  into  the  world  always  thinking  of  it  as  a 
foe  ?  Was  not  this  great  Cosmopolis,  this  dragon 
of  a  thousand  talons  kind  as  well  as  cruel  ?  Had 
it  not  friends  as  well  as  enemies  ?  Yes.  That 
was  it:  the  outlook  of  young  men,  of  colored 
young  men  in  particular,  was  all  wrong, — they 
had  gone  at  the  world  in  the  wrong  spirit.  They 
had  looked  upon  it  as  a  terrible  f oeman  and  forced 
it  to  be  one.  He  would  do  it,  oh,  so  differently. 
He  would  take  the  world  as  a  friend.  He  would 
even  take  the  old,  old  world  under  his  wing. 

They  sat  in  the  room  talking  that  night,  he  and 
Webb  Davis  and  Charlie  McLean.  It  was  the 
last  night  they  were  to  be  together  in  so  close  a 
relation.  The  commencement  was  over.  They 
had  their  sheepskins.  They  were  pitched  there 
on  the  bed  very  carelessly  to  be  the  important 


ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES  133 

things  they  were,— the  reward  of  four  years  dig 
ging  in  Greek  and  Mathematics. 

They  had  stayed  after  the  exercises  of  the  day 
just  where  they  had  first  stopped.  This  was 
at  McLean's  rooms,  dismantled  and  topsy-turvy 
with  the  business  of  packing.  The  pipes  were 
going  and  the  talk  kept  pace.  Old  men  smoke 
slowly  and  in  great  whiffs  with  long  intervals  of 
silence  between  their  observations.  Young  men 
draw  fast  and  say  many  and  bright  things,  for 
young  men  are  wise, — while  they  are  young. 

"Now,  it's  just  like  this,"  Davis  was  saying  to 
McLean,  "  Here  we  are,  all  three  of  us  turned  out 
into  the  world  like  a  lot  of  little  sparrows  pitched 
out  of  the  nest,  and  what  are  we  going  to  do? 
Of  course  it's  easy  enough  for  you,  McLean,  but 
what  are  my  grave  friend  with  the  nasty  black 
briar,  and  I,  your  humble  servant,  to  do  ?  In 
what  wilderness  are  we  to  pitch  our  tents  and 
where  is  our  manna  coming  from  ?" 

"Oh,  well,  the  world  owes  us  all  a  living," 
said  McLean. 

"  Hackneyed,  but  true.  Of  course  it  does;  but 
every  time  a  colored  man  goes  around  to  collect, 
the  world  throws  up  its  hands  and  yells  '  insol 
vent' — eh,  Halliday?" 


134  ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES 

Halliday  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  as  if  he 
were  going  to  say  something.  Then  he  put  it 
back  without  speaking  and  looked  meditatively 
through  the  blue  smoke. 

"I'm  right,"  Davis  went  on,  "to  begin  with, 
we  colored  people  haven't  any  show  here.  Now, 
if  we  could  go  to  Central  or  South  America,  or 
some  place  like  that,— but  hang  it  all,  who  wants 
to  go  thousands  of  miles  away  from  home  to 
earn  a  little  bread  and  butter?" 

"  There's  India  and  the  young  Englishmen,  if 
I  remember  rightly,"  said  McLean. 

"Oh,  yes,  that's  all  right,  with  the  Cabots  and 
Drake  and  Sir  John  Franklin  behind  them.  Their 
traditions,  their  blood,  all  that  they  know  makes 
them  willing  to  go  '  where  there  ain't  no  ten 
commandments  and  a  man  can  raise  a  thirst,' 
but  for  me,  home,  if  I  can  call  it  home." 

"Well,  then,  stick  it  out." 

"That's  easy  enough  to  say,  McLean;  but  ten 
to  one  you've  got  some  snap  picked  out  for  you 
already,  now  'fess  up,  ain't  you?" 

"Well,  of  course  I'm  going  in  with  my  father, 
I  can't  help  that,  but  I've  got  — 

"To  be  sure,"  broke  in  Davis,  "you  go  in 
with  your  father.  Well,  if  all  I  had  to  do  was  to 


ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES  135 

step  right  out  of  college  into  my  father's  busi 
ness  with  an  assured  salary,  however  small,  I 
shouldn't  be  falling  on  my  own  neck  and  weep 
ing  to-night.  But  that's  just  the  trouble  with  us; 
we  haven't  got  fathers  before  us  or  behind  us,  if 
you'd  rather." 

"More  luck  to  you,  you'll  be  a  father  be 
fore  or  behind  some  one  else;  you'll  be  an  an 
cestor." 

"It's  more  profitable  being  a  descendant,  I 
find." 

A  glow  came  into  McLean's  face  and  his  eyes 
sparkled  as  he  replied:  "Why,  man,  if  I  could, 
I'd  change  places  with  you.  You  don't  deserve 
your  fate.  What  is  before  you?  Hardships, 
perhaps,  and  long  waiting.  But  then,  you  have 
the  zest  of  the  fight,  the  joy  of  the  action  and 
the  chance  of  conquering.  Now  what  is  before 
me, — me,  whom  you  are  envying  ?  I  go  out  of 
here  into  a  dull  counting-room.  The  way  is  pre 
pared  for  me.  Perhaps  I  shall  have  no  hardships, 
but  neither  have  I  the  joy  that  comes  from  pains 
endured.  Perhaps  I  shall  have  no  battle,  but 
even  so,  I  lose  the  pleasure  of  the  fight  and  the 
glory  of  winning.  Your  fate  is  infinitely  to  be 
preferred  to  mine." 


136  ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES 

"Ah,  now  you  talk  with  the  voluminous  voice 
of  the  centuries,"  bantered  Davis.  "You  are  but 
echoing  the  breath  of  your  Nelsons,  your  Cabots, 
your  Drakes  and  your  Franklins.  Why,  can't 
you  see,  you  sentimental  idiot,  that  it's  all  dif 
ferent  and  has  to  be  different  with  us?  The 
Anglo-Saxon  race  has  been  producing  that  fine 
frenzy  in  you  for  seven  centuries  and  more. 
You  come,  with  the  blood  of  merchants,  pioneers 
and  heroes  in  your  veins,  to  a  normal  battle.  But 
for  me,  my  forebears  were  savages  two  hundred 
years  ago.  My  people  learn  to  know  civilization 
by  the  lowest  and  most  degrading  contact  with 
it,  and  thus  equipped  or  unequipped  I  tempt, 
an  abnormal  contest.  Can't  you  see  the  dispro 
portion  ?  " 

"  If  I  do,  I  can  also  see  the  advantage  of  it." 

"For  the  sake  of  common  sense,  Halliday," 
said  Davis,  turning  to  his  companion,  "don't  sit 
there  like  a  clam;  open  up  and  say  something  to 
convince  this  Don  Quixote  who,  because  he  him 
self,  sees  only  windmills,  cannot  be  persuaded 
that  we  have  real  dragons  to  fight." 

"Do  you  fellows  know  Henley  ?"  asked  Halli 
day,  with  apparent  irrelevance. 

"I  know  him  as  a  critic,"  said  McLean. 


ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES  137 

"I  know  him  as  a  name,"  echoed  the  worldly 
Davis,  "but " 

"I  mean  his  poems,"  resumed  Halliday,  "he  is 
the  most  virile  of  the  present-day  poets.  Kip 
ling  is  virile,  but  he  gives  you  the  man  in  hot 
blood  with  the  brute  in  him  to  the  fore;  but  the 
strong  masculinity  of  Henley  is  essentially  intel 
lectual.  It  is  the  mind  that  is  conquering  al 
ways." 

"Well,  now  that  you  have  settled  the  relative 
place  in  English  letters  of  Kipling  and  Henley, 
might  I  be  allowed  humbly  to  ask  what  in  the 
name  of  all  that  is  good  has  that  to  do  with  the 
question  before  the  house  ?  " 

"I  don't  know  your  man's  poetry,"  said  Mc 
Lean,  "but  I  do  believe  that  I  can  see  what  you 
are  driving  at." 

"Wonderful  perspicacity,  oh,  youth!" 

"  If  Webb  will  agree  not  to  run,  I'll  spring  on 
you  the  poem  that  seems  to  me  to  strike  the  key 
note  of  the  matter  in  hand." 

"Oh,  well,  curiosity  will  keep  me.  I  want  to 
get  your  position,  and  I  want  to  see  McLean 
annihilated." 

In  a  low,  even  tone,  but  without  attempt  at 
dramatic  effect,  Halliday  began  to  recite: 


138  ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES 

"  Out  of  the  night  that  covers  me, 

Black  as  the  pit  from  pole  to  pole, 
I  thank  whatever  gods  there  be 
For  my  unconquerable  soul ! 

"  In  the  fell  clutch  of  circumstance, 

I  have  not  winced  nor  cried  aloud. 
Under  the  bludgeonings  of  chance, 
My  head  is  bloody,  but  unbowed. 

"  Beyond  this  place  of  wrath  and  tears 
Looms  but  the  horror  of  the  shade, 
And  yet  the  menace  of  the  years 
Finds,  and  shall  find  me  unafraid. 

"  It  matters  not  how  strait  the  gate, 

How  charged  with  punishments  the  scroll, 
I  am  the  master  of  my  fate, 
I  am  the  captain  of  my  soul." 

"That's  it,"  exclaimed  McLean,  leaping  to  his 
feet,  "that's  what  I  mean.  That's  the  sort  of  a 
stand  for  a  man  to  take." 

Davis  rose  and  knocked  the  ashes  from  his 
pipe  against  the  window-sill.  "Well,  for  two 
poetry-spouting,  poetry-consuming,  sentimental 
idiots,  commend  me  to  you  fellows.  '  Master  of 
my  fate,  captain  of  my  soul,  be  dashed!  Old 
Jujube,  with  his  bone-pointed  hunting  spear, 
began  determining  a  couple  of  hundred  years 
ago  what  I  should  be  in  this  year  of  our  Lord 
one  thousand  eight  hundred  and  ninety-four. 


ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES  139 

J.  Webb  Davis,  senior,  added  another  brick  to 
this  structure,  when  he  was  picking  cotton  on 
his  master's  plantation  forty  years  ago." 

"And  now,"  said  Halliday,  also  rising,  " don't 
you  think  it  fair  that  you  should  start  out  with 
the  idea  of  adding  a  few  bricks  of  your  own, 
and  all  of  a  better  make  than  those  of  your  re 
mote  ancestor,  Jujube,  or  that  nearer  one,  your 
father?" 

"Spoken  like  a  man,"  said  McLean. 

"Oh,  you  two  are  so  hopelessly  young," 
laughed  Davis. 


PART  II 

AFTER  the  two  weeks'  rest  which  he  thought 
he  needed,  and  consequently  promised  himself, 
Halliday  began  to  look  about  him  for  some  means 
of  making  a  start  for  that  success  in  life  which 
he  felt  so  sure  of  winning. 

With  this  end  in  view  he  returned  to  the  town 
where  he  was  born.  He  had  settled  upon  the 
law  as  a  profession,  and  had  studied  it  for  a  year 
or  two  while  at  college.  He  would  go  back  to 
Broughton  now  to  pursue  his  studies,  but  of 
course,  he  needed  money.  No  difficulty,  how- 


MO  ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES 

ever,  presented  itself  in  the  getting  of  this  for  he 
knew  several  fellows  who  had  been  able  to  go 
into  offices,  and  by  collecting  and  similar  duties 
make  something  while  they  studied.  Webb 
Davis  would  have  said,  "but  they  were  white," 
but  Halliday  knew  what  his  own  reply  would 
have  been  :  "What  a  white  man  can  do,  I  can 
do." 

Even  if  he  could  not  go  to  studying  at  once, 
he  could  go  to  work  and  save  enough  money  to 
go  on  with  his  course  in  a  year  or  two.  He  had 
lots  of  time  before  him,  and  he  only  needed  a 
little  start.  What  better  place  then,  to  go  to  than 
Broughton,  where  he  had  first  seen  the  light  ? 
Broughton,  that  had  known  him,  boy  and  man. 
Broughton  that  had  watched  him  through  the 
common  school  and  the  high  school,  and  had 
seen  him  go  off  to  college  with  some  pride  and  a 
good  deal  of  curiosity.  For  even  in  middle  west 
towns  of  such  a  size,  that  is,  between  seventy 
and  eighty  thousand  souls,  a  "smart  negro"  was 
still  a  freak. 

So  Halliday  went  back  home  because  the  peo 
ple  knew  him  there  and  would  respect  his  strug 
gles  and  encourage  his  ambitions. 

He  had  been  home  two  days,  and  the  old  town 


ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES  141 

had  begun  to  take  on  its  remembered  aspect  as 
he  wandered  through  the  streets  and  along  the 
river  banks.  On  this  second  day  he  was  going  up 
Main  street  deep  in  a  brown  study  when  he  heard 
his  name  called  by  a  young  man  who  was  ap 
proaching  him,  and  saw  an  outstretched  hand. 

"  Why,  how  de  do,  Bert,  how  are  you  ?  Glad 
to  see  you  back.  I  hear  you  have  been  astonish 
ing  them  up  at  college." 

Halliday's  reverie  had  been  so  suddenly  broken 
into  that  for  a  moment,  the  young  fellow's  iden 
tity  wavered  elusively  before  his  mind  and  then 
it  materialized,  and  his  consciousness  took  hold 
of  it.  He  remembered  him,  not  as  an  intimate, 
but  as  an  acquaintance  whom  he  had  often  met 
upon  the  football  and  baseball  fields. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  It's  Bob  Dickson,"  he  said, 
shaking  the  proffered  hand,  which  at  the  men 
tion  of  the  name,  had  grown  unaccountably  cold 
in  his  grasp. 

"Yes,  I'm  Mr.  Dickson,"  said  the  young  man, 
patronizingly.  "You  seem  to  have  developed 
wonderfully,  you  hardly  seem  like  the  same  Bert 
Halliday  I  used  to  know." 

"Yes,  but  I'm  the  same  Mr.  Halliday." 

"Oh— ah — yes,"  said  the  young  man,  "well, 


142  ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES 

I'm  glad  to  have  seen  you.  Ah— good-bye, 
Bert." 

"Good-bye,  Bob." 

"  Presumptuous  darky  !  "  murmured  Mr.  Dick- 
son. 

"Insolent  puppy!"  said  Mr.  Halliday  to  him 
self. 

But  the  incident  made  no  impression  on  his 
mind  as  bearing  upon  his  status  in  the  public 
eye.  He  only  thought  the  fellow  a  cad,  and 
went  hopefully  on.  He  was  rather  amused  than 
otherwise.  In  this  frame  of  mind,  he  turned 
into  one  of  the  large  office-buildings  that  lined 
the  street  and  made  his  way  to  a  business  suite 
over  whose  door  was  the  inscription,  "  H.  G. 
Featherton,  Counsellor  and  Attorney-at-Law." 
Mr.  Featherton  had  shown  considerable  interest 
in  Bert  in  his  school  days,  and  he  hoped  much 
from  him. 

As  he  entered  the  public  office,  a  man  sitting 
at  the  large  desk  in  the  centre  of  the  room  turned 
and  faced  him.  He  was  a  fair  man  of  an  inde 
terminate  age,  for  you  could  not  tell  whether 
those  were  streaks  of  grey  shining  in  his  light 
hair,  or  only  the  glint  which  it  took  on  in  the 
sun.  His  face  was  dry,  lean  and  intellectual. 


ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES  143 

He  smiled  now  and  then,  and  his  smile  was  like 
a  flash  of  winter  lightning,  so  cold  and  quick  it 
was.  It  went  as  suddenly  as  it  came,  leaving  the 
face  as  marbly  cold  and  impassive  as  ever.  He 
rose  and  extended  his  hand,  "  Why — why — ah 
—Bert,  how  de  do,  how  are  you  ?  " 

"Very  well,  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Featherton." 

"Hum,  I'm  glad  to  see  you  back,  sit  down. 
Going  to  stay  with  us,  you  think  ?" 

"I'm  not  sure,  Mr.  Featherton;  it  all  depends 
upon  my  getting  something  to  do." 

"You  want  to  go  to  work,  do  you?  Hum, 
well,  that's  right.  It's  work  makes  the  man. 
What  do  you  propose  to  do,  now  since  you've 
graduated  ?  " 

Bert  warmed  at  the  evident  interest  of  his  old 
friend.  "Well,  in  the  first  place,  Mr.  Feather- 
ton,"  he  replied,  "I  must  get  to  work  and  make 
some  money.  I  have  heard  of  fellows  studying 
and  supporting  themselves  at  the  same  time,  but 
1  musn't  expect  too  much.  I'm  going  to  study 
law." 

The  attorney  had  schooled  his  face  into  hiding 
any  emotion  he  might  feel,  and  it  did  not  betray 
him  now.  He  only  flashed  one  of  his  quick 
cold  smiles  and  asked, 


144  ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES 

"  Don't  you  think  you've  taken  rather  a  hard 
profession  to  get  on  in  ?  " 

"No  doubt.  But  anything  I  should  take 
would  be  hard.  It's  just  like  this,  Mr.  Feather- 
ton,"  he  went  on,  "  I  am  willing  to  work  and  to 
work  hard,  and  I  am  not  looking  for  any  snap." 

Mr.  Featherton  was  so  unresponsive  to  this 
outburst  that  Bert  was  ashamed  of  it  the  minute 
it  left  his  lips.  He  wished  this  man  would  not 
be  so  cold  and  polite  and  he  wished  he  would 
stop  putting  the  ends  of  his  white  fingers  to 
gether  as  carefully  as  if  something  depended 
upon  it. 

"I  say  the  law  is  a  hard  profession  to  get  on 
in,  and  as  a  friend  I  say  that  it  will  be  harder  for 
you.  Your  people  have  not  the  money  to  spend 
in  litigation  of  any  kind." 

"I  should  not  cater  for  the  patronage  of  my 
own  people  alone." 

"Yes,  but  the  time  has  not  come  when  a 
white  person  will  employ  a  colored  attorney." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  prejudice  here 
at  home  is  such  that  if  I  were  as  competent  as  a 
white  lawyer  a  white  person  would  not  employ 
me?" 

"  I  say  nothing  about  prejudice  at  all.     It's  na- 


ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES  145 

ture.  They  have  their  own  lawyers ;  why 
should  they  go  outside  of  their  own  to  employ  a 
colored  man  ?  " 

''But  I  am  of  their  own.  I  am  an  American 
citizen,  there  should  be  no  thought  of  color 
about  it." 

"Oh,  my  boy,  that  theory  is  very  nice,  but  State 
University  democracy  doesn't  obtain  in  real  life." 

"A/lore's  the  pity,  then,  for  real  life." 

"  Perhaps,  but  we  must  take  things  as  we  find 
them,  not  as  we  think  they  ought  to  be.  You 
people  are  having  and  will  have  for  the  next  ten 
or  a  dozen  years  the  hardest  fight  of  your  lives. 
The  sentiment  of  remorse  and  the  desire  for 
atoning  which  actuated  so  many  white  men  to 
help  negroes  right  after  the  war  has  passed  off 
without  being  replaced  by  that  sense  of  plain 
justice  which  gives  a  black  man  his  due,  not  be 
cause  of,  nor  in  spite  of,  but  without  considera 
tion  of  his  color." 

"I  wonder  if  it  can  be  true,  as  my  friend 
Davis  says,  that  a  colored  man  must  do  twice  as 
much  and  twice  as  well  as  a  white  man  before 
he  can  hope  for  even  equal  chances  with  him  ? 
That  white  mediocrity  demands  black  genius  to 
cope  with  it?" 


146  ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES 

"  I  am  afraid  your  friend  has  philosophized  the 
situation  about  right." 

"Well,  we  have  dealt  in  generalities,"  said 
Bert,  smiling,  "  let  us  take  up  the  particular  and 
personal  part  of  this  matter.  Is  there  any  way 
you  could  help  me  to  a  situation  ?" 

"Well, — I  should  be  glad  to  see  you  get  on, 
Bert,  but  as  you  see,  I  have  nothing  in  my  office 
that  you  could  do.  Now,  if  you  don't  mind  be 
ginning  at  the  bottom  - 

"That's  just  what  I  expected  to  do." 

" — Why  I  could  speak  to  the  head-waiter  of 
the  hotel  where  I  stay.  He's  a  very  nice  colored 
man  and  I  have  some  influence  with  him.  No 
doubt  Charlie  could  give  you  a  place." 

"  But  that's  a  work  I  abhor." 

"  Yes,  but  you  must  begin  at  the  bottom,  you 
know.  All  young  men  must." 

"To  be  sure,  but  would  you  have  recom 
mended  the  same  thing  to  your  nephew  on  his 
leaving  college  ?  " 

"  Ah— ah— that's  different." 

"Yes,"  said  Halliday,  rising,  "it  is  different. 
There's  a  different  bottom  at  which  black  and 
white  young  men  should  begin,  and  by  a  logical 
sequence,  a  different  top  to  which  they  should 


ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES  147 

aspire.  However,  Mr.  Featherton,  I'll  ask  you  to 
hold  your  offer  in  abeyance.  If  I  can  find  noth 
ing  else,  I'll  ask  you  to  speak  to  the  head-waiter. 
Good-morning." 

"I'll  do  so  with  pleasure,"  said  Mr.  Featherton, 
"  and  good-morning." 

As  the  young  man  went  up  the  street,  an  an 
nouncement  card  in  the  window  of  a  publishing 
house  caught  his  eye.  It  was  the  announcement 
of  the  next  Sunday's  number  in  a  series  of  ad 
dresses  which  the  local  business  men  were  giv 
ing  before  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  It  read,  "'How  a 
Christian  young  man  can  get  on  in  the  law  '—an 
address  by  a  Christian  lawyer— H.  G.  Featherton." 

Bert  laughed.  "I  should  like  to  hear  that  ad 
dress,"  he  said.  "I  wonder  if  he'll  recommend 
them  to  his  head-waiter.  No,  'that's  different.' 
All  the  addresses  and  all  the  books  written  on 
how  to  get  on,  are  written  for  white  men.  We 
blacks  must  solve  the  question  for  ourselves." 

He  had  lost  some  of  the  ardor  with  which  he 
had  started  out  but  he  was  still  full  of  hope.  He 
refused  to  accept  Mr.  Featherton's  point  of  view 
as  general  or  final.  So  he  hailed  a  passing  car 
that  in  the  course  of  a  half  hour  set  him  down  at 
the  door  of  the  great  factory  which,  with  its  im- 


148  ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES 

provements,  its  army  of  clerks  and  employees, 
had  built  up  one  whole  section  of  the  town.  He 
felt  especially  hopeful  in  attacking  this  citadel, 
because  they  were  constantly  advertising  for 
clerks  and  their  placards  plainly  stated  that  pref 
erence  would  be  given  to  graduates  of  the  local 
high  school.  The  owners  were  philanthropists 
in  their  way.  Well,  what  better  chance  could 
there  be  before  him  ?  He  had  graduated  there 
and  stood  well  in  his  classes,  and  besides,  he 
knew  that  a  number  of  his  classmates  were  hold 
ing  good  positions  in  the  factory.  So  his  voice 
was  cheerful  as  he  asked  to  see  Mr.  Stockard, 
who  had  charge  of  the  clerical  department. 

Mr.  Stockard  was  a  fat,  wheezy  young  man, 
with  a  reputation  for  humor  based  entirely  upon 
his  size  and  his  rubicund  face,  for  he  had  really 
never  said  anything  humorous  in  his  life.  He 
came  panting  into  the  room  now  with  a  "Well, 
what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"I  wanted  to  see  you  about  a  situation " — be 
gan  Halliday. 

"Oh,  no,  no,  you  don't  want  to  see  me," 
broke  in  Stockard,  "you  want  to  see  the  head 
janitor." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  see  the  head  janitor.     I 


ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES  149 

want  to  see  the  head  of  the  clerical  depart 
ment." 

"You  want  to  see  the  head  of  the  clerical  de 
partment!  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  see  you  are  advertising  for  clerks 
with  preference  given  to  the  high  school  boys. 
Well,  I  am  an  old  high  school  boy,  but  have  been 
away  for  a  few  years  at  college." 

Mr.  Stockard  opened  his  eyes  to  their  widest 
extent,  and  his  jaw  dropped.  Evidently  he  had 
never  come  across  such  presumption  before. 

"We  have  nothing  for  you,"  he  wheezed  after 
awhile. 

"Very  well,  I  should  be  glad  to  drop  in  again 
and  see  you,"  said  Halliday,  moving  to  the  door. 
"I  hope  you  will  remember  me  if  anything 
opens." 

Mr.  Stockard  did  not  reply  to  this  or  to  Bert's 
good-bye.  He  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor 
and  stared  at  the  door  through  which  the  colored 
man  had  gone,  then  he  dropped  into  a  chair  with 
a  gasp. 

"Well,  I'm  dumbed!  "he  said. 

A  doubt  had  begun  to  arise  in  Bertram  Halli- 
day's  mind  that  turned  him  cold  and  then  hot 
with  a  burning  indignation.  He  could  try  noth- 


150  ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES 

ing  more  that  morning.  It  had  brought  him 
nothing  but  rebuffs.  He  hastened  home  and 
threw  himself  down  on  the  sofa  to  try  and  think 
out  his  situation. 

"Do  they  still  require  of  us  bricks  without 
straw  ?  1  thought  all  that  was  over.  Well,  I 
suspect  that  I  will  have  to  ask  Mr.  Feather- 
ton  to  speak  to  his  head-waiter  in  my  behalf.  I 
wonder  if  the  head-waiter  will  demand  my  di 
ploma.  Webb  Davis,  you  were  nearer  right  than 
1  thought." 

He  spent  the  day  in  the  house  thinking  and 
planning. 

PART  III 

HALLIDAY  was  not  a  man  to  be  discouraged 
easily,  and  for  the  next  few  weeks  he  kept  up 
an  unflagging  search  for  work.  He  found  that 
there  were  more  Feathertons  and  Stockards  than 
he  had  ever  looked  to  find.  Everywhere  that  he 
turned  his  face,  anything  but  the  most  menial 
work  was  denied  him.  He  thought  once  of  go 
ing  away  from  Broughton,  but  would  he  find  it 
any  better  anywhere  else,  he  asked  himself?  He 
determined  to  stay  and  fight  it  out  there  for  two 


ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES  151 

reasons.  First,  because  he  held  that  it  would  be 
cowardice  to  run  away,  and  secondly,  because  he 
felt  that  he  was  not  fighting  a  local  disease,  but 
was  bringing  the  force  of  his  life  to  bear  upon 
a  national  evil.  Broughton  was  as  good  a  place 
to  begin  curative  measures  as  elsewhere. 

There  was  one  refuge  which  was  open  to  him, 
and  which  he  fought  against  with  all  his  might. 
For  years  now,  from  as  far  back  as  he  could  re 
member,  the  colored  graduates  had  "gone  South 
to  teach."  This  course  was  now  recommended 
to  him.  Indeed,  his  own  family  quite  approved 
of  it,  and  when  he  still  stood  out  against  the 
scheme,  people  began  to  say  that  Bertram  Halli- 
day  did  not  want  work ;  he  wanted  to  be  a  gen 
tleman. 

But  Halliday  knew  that  the  South  had  plenty 
of  material,  and  year  by  year  was  raising  and 
training  her  own  teachers.  He  knew  that  the 
time  would  come,  if  it  were  not  present  when  it 
would  be  impossible  to  go  South  to  teach,  and 
he  felt  it  to  be  essential  that  the  North  should  be 
trained  in  a  manner  looking  to  the  employment 
of  her  own  negroes.  So  he  stayed.  But  he  was 
only  human,  and  when  the  tide  of  talk  anent  his 
indolence  began  to  ebb  and  flow  about  him,  he 


I52  ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES 

availed  himself  of  the  only  expedient  that  could 
arrest  it. 

When  he  went  back  to  the  great  factory  where 
he  had  seen  and  talked  with  Mr.  Stockard,  he 
went  around  to  another  door  and  this  time  asked 
for  the  head  janitor.  This  individual,  a  genial 
Irishman,  took  stock  of  Halliday  at  a  glance. 

"  But  what  do  ye  want  to  be  doin'  sich  wurruk 
for,  whin  ye've  been  through  school  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  am  doing  the  only  thing  I  can  get  to  do," 
was  the  answer. 

"Well,  "said  the  Irishman,  "ye've  got  sinse, 
anyhow." 

Bert  found  himself  employed  as  an  under  jani 
tor  at  the  factory  at  a  wage  of  nine  dollars  a 
week.  At  this,  he  could  pay  his  share  to  keep 
the  house  going,  and  save  a  little  for  the  period 
of  study  he  still  looked  forward  to.  The  people 
who  had  accused  him  of  laziness  now  made  a 
martyr  of  him,  and  said  what  a  pity  it  was  for  a 
man  with  such  an  education  and  with  so  much 
talent  to  be  so  employed  menially. 

He  did  not  neglect  his  studies,  but  read  at 
night,  whenever  the  day's  work  had  not  made 
both  brain  and  body  too  weary  for  the  task. 

In  this  way  his  life  went  along  for  over  a  year 


ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES  153 

when  one  morning  a  note  from  Mr.  Featherton 
summoned  him  to  that  gentleman's  office.  It  is 
true  that  Halliday  read  the  note  with  some  trepi 
dation.  His  bitter  experience  had  not  yet  taught 
him  how  not  to  dream.  He  was  not  yet  old 
enough  for  that.  "Maybe,"  he  thought,  "Mr. 
Featherton  has  relented,  and  is  going  to  give  me 
a  chance  anyway.  Or  perhaps  he  wanted  me  to 
prove  my  metal  before  he  consented  to  take  me 
up.  Well,  I've  tried  to  do  it,  and  if  that's  what 
he  wanted,  I  hope  he's  satisfied."  The  note 
which  seemed  written  all  over  with  joyful  tidings 
shook  in  his  hand. 

The  genial  manner  with  which  Mr.  Featherton 
met  him  reaffirmed  in  his  mind  the  belief  that  at 
last  the  lawyer  had  determined  to  give  him  a 
chance.  He  was  almost  deferential  as  he  asked 
Bert  into  his  private  office,  and  shoved  a  chair 
forward  for  him. 

"Well,  you've  been  getting  on,  I  see,"  he  be 
gan. 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  Bert,  "I  have  been  getting 
on  by  hook  and  crook." 

"  Hum,  done  any  studying  lately  ?  " 

"Yes,  but  not  as  much  as  I  wish  to.  Coke 
and  Wharton  aren't  any  clearer  to  a  head  grown 


154  ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES 

dizzy  with  bending  over  mops,  brooms  and 
heavy  trucks  all  day." 

"No,  I  should  think  not.  Ah — oh— well, 
Bert,  how  should  you  like  to  come  into  my 
office  and  help  around,  do  such  errands  as  I  need 
and  help  copy  my  papers  ?" 

"I  should  be  delighted." 

"It  would  only  pay  you  five  dollars  a  week, 
less  than  what  you  are  getting  now,  1  suppose, 
but  it  will  be  more  genteel." 

"Oh,  now,  that  I  have  had  to  do  it,  I  don't 
care  so  much  about  the  lack  of  gentility  of  my 
present  work,  but  I  prefer  what  you  offer  be 
cause  I  shall  have  a  greater  chance  to  study." 

"Well,  then,  you  may  as  well  come  in  on 
Monday.  The  office  will  be  often  in  your 
charge,  as  I  am  going  to  be  away  a  great  deal 
in  the  next  few  months.  You  know  I  am  going 
to  make  the  fight  for  nomination  to  the  seat 
on  the  bench  which  is  vacant  this  fall." 

"  Indeed.  I  have  not  so  far  taken  much  inter 
est  in  politics,  but  I  will  do  all  in  my  power  to 
help  you  with  both  nomination  and  election." 

" Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Featherton,  "I  am  sure 
you  can  be  of  great  service  to  me  as  the  vote  of 
your  people  is  pretty  heavy  in  Broughton.  I 


ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES  155 

have  always  been  a  friend  to  them,  and  I  believe 
I  can  depend  upon  their  support.  I  shall  be  glad 
of  any  good  you  can  do  me  with  them." 

Bert  laughed  when  he  was  out  on  the  street 
again.  "For  value  received,"  he  said.  He 
thought  less  of  Mr.  Featherton's  generosity 
since  he  saw  it  was  actuated  by  self-interest 
alone,  but  that  in  no  wise  destroyed  the  real 
worth  of  the  opportunity  that  was  now  given 
into  his  hands.  Featherton,  he  believed,  would 
make  an  excellent  judge,  and  he  was  glad  that  in 
working  for  his  nomination  his  convictions  so 
aptly  fell  in  with  his  inclinations. 

His  work  at  the  factory  had  put  him  in  touch 
with  a  larger  number  of  his  people  than  he  could 
have  possibly  met  had  he  gone  into  the  office  at 
once.  Over  them,  his  naturally  bright  mind  ex 
erted  some  influence.  As  a  simple  laborer  he 
had  fellowshipped  with  them  but  they  acknowl 
edged  and  availed  themselves  of  his  leadership, 
because  they  felt  instinctively  in  him  a  power 
which  they  did  not  have.  Among  them  now  he 
worked  sedulously.  He  held  that  the  greater  part 
of  the  battle  would  be  in  the  primaries,  and  on 
the  night  when  they  convened,  he  had  his  friends 
out  in  force  in  every  ward  which  went  to  make 


156  ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES 

up  the  third  judicial  district.  Men  who  had  never 
seen  the  inside  of  a  primary  meeting  before  were 
there  actively  engaged  in  this. 

The  Diurnal  said  next  morning  that  the  active 
interest  of  the  hard-working,  church-going  col 
ored  voters,  who  wanted  to  see  a  Christian  judge 
on  the  bench  had  had  much  to  do  with  the  nom 
ination  of  Mr.  Featherton. 

The  success  at  the  primaries  did  not  tempt 
Halliday  to  relinquish  his  efforts  on  his  employ 
er's  behalf.  He  was  indefatigable  in  his  cause. 
On  the  west  side  where  the  colored  population 
had  largely  colonized,  he  made  speeches  and 
held  meetings  clear  up  to  election  day.  The 
fight  had  been  between  two  factions  of  the  party 
and  after  the  nomination  it  was  feared  that  the 
defection  of  the  part  defeated  in  the  primaries 
might  prevent  the  ratification  of  the  nominee  at 
the  polls.  But  before  the  contest  was  half  over  all 
fears  for  him  were  laid.  What  he  had  lost  in  the 
districts  where  the  skulking  faction  was  strong, 
he  made  up  in  the  wards  where  the  colored  vote 
was  large.  He  was  overwhelmingly  elected. 

Halliday  smiled  as  he  sat  in  the  office  and 
heard  the  congratulations  poured  in  upon  Judge 
Featherton. 


ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES  15? 

"  Well,  it's  wonderful,"  said  one  of  his  visitors, 
"  how  the  colored  boys  stood  by  you." 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  a  friend  to  the  colored  peo 
ple,  and  they  know  it,"  said  Featherton. 

It  would  be  some  months  before  His  Honor 
would  take  his  seat  on  the  bench,  and  during 
that  time,  Halliday  hoped  to  finish  his  office 
course. 

He  was  surprised  when  Featherton  came  to 
him  a  couple  of  weeks  after  the  election  and 
said,  "Well,  Bert,  I  guess  I  can  get  along  now. 
I'll  be  shutting  up  this  office  pretty  soon.  Here 
are  your  wages  and  here  is  a  little  gift  I  wish  to 
add  out  of  respect  to  you  for  your  kindness  dur 
ing  my  run  for  office." 

Bert  took  the  wages,  but  the  added  ten  dollar 
note  he  waved  aside.  "No,  I  thank  you,  Mr. 
Featherton,"  he  said,  "what  I  did,  I  did  from  a 
belief  in  your  fitness  for  the  place,  and  out  of 
loyalty  to  my  employer.  I  don't  want  any 
money  for  it." 

"  Then  let  us  say  that  I  have  raised  your  wages 
to  this  amount." 

"  No,  that  would  only  be  evasion.  I  want  no 
more  than  you  promised  to  give  me." 

"Very  well,  then  accept  my  thanks,  anyway." 


158  ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES 

What  things  he  had  at  the  office  Halliday  took 
away  that  night.  A  couple  of  days  later  he  re 
membered  a  book  which  he  had  failed  to  get  and 
returned  for  it.  The  office  was  as  usual.  Mr. 
Featherton  was  a  little  embarrassed  and  nervous. 
At  Halliday's  desk  sat  a  young  white  man  about 
his  own  age.  He  was  copying  a  deed  for  Mr. 
Featherton. 

PART  IV 

BERTRAM  HALLIDAY  went  home,  burning  with 
indignation  at  the  treatment  he  had  received  at 
the  hands  of  the  Christian  judge. 

"He  has  used  me  as  a  housemaid  would  use  a 
lemon,"  he  said,  ''squeezed  all  out  of  me  he 
could  get,  and  then  flung  me  into  the  street. 
Well,  Webb  was  nearer  right  than  I  thought." 

He  was  now  out  of  everything.  His  place  at 
the  factory  had  been  filled,  and  no  new  door 
opened  to  him.  He  knew  what  reward  a  search 
for  work  brought  a  man  of  his  color  in  Brough- 
ton,  so  he  did  not  bestir  himself  to  go  over  the 
old  track  again.  He  thanked  his  stars  that  he,  at 
least,  had  money  enough  to  carry  him  away 
from  the  place  and  he  determined  to  go.  His 
spirit  was  quelled,  but  not  broken. 


ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES  159 

Just  before  leaving,  he  wrote  to  Davis. 

"  My  dear  Webb!"  the  letter  ran,  "you,  after 
all,  were  right.  We  have  little  or  no  show  in  the 
fight  for  life  among  these  people.  I  have  strug 
gled  for  two  years  here  at  Broughton,  and  now 
find  myself  back  where  I  was  when  I  first  stepped 
out  of  school  with  a  foolish  faith  in  being  equipped 
for  something.  One  thing,  my  eyes  have  been 
opened  anyway,  and  I  no  longer  judge  so  harshly 
the  shiftless  and  unambitious  among  my  people. 
I  hardly  see  how  a  people,  who  have  so  much  to 
contend  with  and  so  little  to  hope  for,  can  go  on 
striving  and  aspiring.  But  the  very  fact  that 
they  do,  breeds  in  me  a  respect  for  them.  I 
now  see  why  so  many  promising  young  men, 
class  orators,  valedictorians  and  the  like  fall  by 
the  wayside  and  are  never  heard  from  after  com 
mencement  day.  I  now  see  why  the  sleeping 
and  dining-car  companies  are  supplied  by  men 
with  better  educations  than  half  the  passengers 
whom  they  serve.  They  get  tired  of  swimming 
always  against  the  tide,  as  who  would  not  ?  and 
are  content  to  drift. 

"I  know  that  a  good  many  of  my  friends 
would  say  that  I  am  whining.  Well,  suppose  I 
am,  that's  the  business  of  a  whipped  cur.  The 


160  ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES 

dog  on  top  can  bark,  but  the  under  dog  must 
howl. 

"Nothing  so  breaks  a  man's  spirit  as  defeat, 
constant,  unaltering,  hopeless  defeat.  That's 
what  I've  experienced.  I  am  still  studying  law 
in  a  half-hearted  way  for  I  don't  know  what  I 
am  going  to  do  with  it  when  I  have  been  ad 
mitted.  Diplomas  don't  draw  clients.  We  have 
been  taught  that  merit  wins.  But  I  have  learned 
that  the  adages,  as  well  as  the  books  and  the 
formulas  were  made  by  and  for  others  than  us  of 
the  black  race. 

"They  say,  too,  that  our  brother  Americans 
sympathize  with  us,  and  will  help  us  when  we 
help  ourselves.  Bah!  The  only  sympathy  that 
I  have  ever  seen  on  the  part  of  the  white  man 
was  not  for  the  negro  himself,  but  for  some 
portion  of  white  blood  that  the  colored  man  had 
got  tangled  up  in  his  veins. 

"But  there,  perhaps  my  disappointment  has 
made  me  sour,  so  think  no  more  of  what  I  have 
said.  I  am  going  now  to  do  what  I  abhor.  Go 
ing  South  to  try  to  find  a  school.  It's  awful. 
But  I  don't  want  any  one  to  pity  me.  There  are 
several  thousands  of  us  in  the  same  position. 

"I  am   glad  you  are  prospering.     You  were 


ONE  MAN'S  FORTUNES  161 

better  equipped  than  I  was  with  a  deal  of  mate 
rialism  and  a  dearth  of  ideals.  Give  us  a  line 
when  you  are  in  good  heart. 

"  Yours,         HALLIDAY. 

"  P.  S.— Just  as  I  finished  writing  I  had  a  note 
from  Judge  Featherton  offering  me  the  court 
messengership  at  five  dollars  a  week.  I  am 
twenty-five.  The  place  was  held  before  by  a 
white  boy  of  fifteen.  I  declined.  '  Southward 
Ho!'" 

Davis  was  not  without  sympathy  as  he  read 
his  friend's  letter  in  a  city  some  distance  away. 
He  had  worked  in  a  hotel,  saved  money  enough 
to  start  a  barber-shop  and  was  prospering.  His 
white  customers  joked  with  him  and  patted  him 
on  the  back,  and  he  was  already  known  to  have 
political  influence.  Yes,  he  sympathized  with 
Bert,  but  he  laughed  over  the  letter  and  jingled 
the  coins  in  his  pockets. 

"Thank  heaven,"  he  said,  "that  I  have  no 
ideals  to  be  knocked  into  a  cocked  hat.  A 
colored  man  has  no  business  with  ideals — not  in 
this  nineteenth  century! " 


JIM'S  PROBATION 


163 


JIM'S  PROBATION 

FOR  so  long  a  time  had  Jim  been  known  as  the 
hardest  sinner  on  the  plantation  that  no  one  had 
tried  to  reach  the  heart  under  his  outward  shell 
even  in  camp-meeting  and  revival  times.  Even 
good  old  Brother  Parker,  who  was  ever  looking 
after  the  lost  and  straying  sheep,  gave  him  up  as 
beyond  recall. 

"Dat  Jim,"  he  said,  "Oomph,  de  debbil  done 
got  his  stamp  on  dat  boy,  an'  dey  ain'  no  use  in 
tryin'  to  scratch  hit  off." 

"  But  Parker,"  said  his  master,  "that's  the  very 
sort  of  man  you  want  to  save.  Don't  you  know 
it's  your  business  as  a  man  of  the  gospel  to  call 
sinners  to  repentance  ?  " 

"Lawd,  Mas'  Mordaunt,"  exclaimed  the  old 
man,  "my  v'ice  done  got  hoa'se  callin'  Jim,  too 
long  ergo  to  talk  erbout.  You  jes'  got  to  let  him 
go  'long,  maybe  some  o'  dese  days  he  gwine  slip 
up  on  de  gospel  an'  fall  plum'  inter  salvation." 

Even  Mandy,  Jim's  wife,  had  attempted  to 
urge  the  old  man  to  some  more  active  efforts  in 
her  husband's  behalf.  She  was  a  pillar  of  the 
165 


1 66  JIM'S  PROBATION 

church  herself,  and  was  woefully  disturbed  about 
the  condition  of  Jim's  soul.  Indeed,  it  was  said 
that  half  of  the  time  it  was  Mandy's  prayers  and 
exhortations  that  drove  Jim  into  the  woods  with 
his  dog  and  his  axe,  or  an  old  gun  that  he  had 
come  into  possession  of  from  one  of  the  younger 
Mordaunts. 

Jim  was  unregenerate.  He  was  a  fighter,  a 
hard  drinker,  fiddled  on  Sunday,  and  had  been 
known  to  go  out  hunting  on  that  sacred  day. 
So  it  startled  the  whole  place  when  Mandy  an 
nounced  one  day  to  a  few  of  her  intimate  friends 
that  she  believed  "Jim  was  under  conviction." 
He  had  stolen  out  hunting  one  Sunday  night  and 
in  passing  through  the  swamp  had  gotten  him 
self  thoroughly  wet  and  chilled,  and  this  had 
brought  on  an  attack  of  acute  rheumatism,  which 
Mandy  had  pointed  out  to  him  as  a  direct  judg 
ment  of  heaven.  Jim  scoffed  at  first,  but  Mandy 
grew  more  and  more  earnest,  and  finally,  with 
the  racking  of  the  pain,  he  waxed  serious  and 
determined  to  look  to  the  state  of  his  soul  as  a 
means  to  the  good  of  his  body. 

"Hit  do  seem,"  Mandy  said,  "dat  Jim  feel  de 
weight  o'  his  sins  mos'  powahful." 

"I  reckon  hit's  de  rheumatics,"  said  Dinah. 


JIM. 


JIM'S  PROBATION  167 

"  Don'  mek  no  diffunce  what  de  inst'ument 
is,"  Mandy  replied,  "hit's  de  'suit,  hit's  de  'suit." 

When  the  news  reached  Stuart  Mordaunt's 
ears  he  became  intensely  interested.  Anything 
that  would  convert  Jim,  and  make  a  model 
Christian  of  him  would  be  providential  on  that 
plantation.  It  would  save  the  overseers  many 
an  hour's  worry;  his  horses,  many  a  secret  ride; 
and  the  other  servants,  many  a  broken  head.  So 
he  again  went  down  to  labor  with  Parker  in  the 
interest  of  the  sinner. 

"  Is  he  mou'nin'  yit  ?"  said  Parker. 

"No,  not  yet,  but  I  think  now  is  a  good  time 
to  sow  the  seeds  in  his  mind." 

"Oomph,"  said  the  old  man,  "reckon  you 
bettah  let  Jim  alone  twell  dem  sins  o'  his'n  git 
him  to  tossin'  an'  cryin'  an'  a  mou'nin'.  Den'll 
be  time  enough  to  strive  wid  him.  I's  allus  willin' 
to  do  my  pa't,  Mas'  Stuart,  but  w'en  hit  comes 
to  ol'  time  sinnahs  lak  Jim,  I  believe  in  layin'  off, 
an'  lettin'  de  sperit  do  de  strivin'." 

"But  Parker,"  said  his  master,  "you  yourself 
know  that  the  Bible  says  that  the  spirit  will  not 
always  strive." 

"Well,  la  den,  mas',  you  don'  spec'  I  gwine 
outdo  de  sperit." 


1 68  JIM'S  PROBATION 

But  Stuart  Mordaunt  was  particularly  anxious 
that  Jim's  steps  might  be  turned  in  the  right  di 
rection.  He  knew  just  what  a  strong  hold  over 
their  minds  the  Negroes'  own  emotional  religion 
had,  and  he  felt  that  could  he  once  get  Jim  inside 
the  pale  of  the  church,  and  put  him  on  guard  of 
his  salvation,  it  would  mean  the  loss  of  fewer  of 
his  shoats  and  pullets.  So  he  approached  the  old 
preacher,  and  said  in  a  confidential  tone, 

"Now  look  here,  Parker,  I've  got  a  fine  lot  of 
that  good  old  tobacco  you  like  so  up  to  the  big 
house,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  If  you'll  just 
try  to  work  on  Jim,  and  get  his  feet  in  the  right 
path,  you  can  come  up  and  take  all  you  want." 

"  Oom-oomph,"  said  the  old  man,  "datsho'  is 
monst'ous  fine  terbaccer,  Mas'  Stua't." 

"Yes,  it  is,  and  you  shall  have  all  you  want 
of  it." 

"  Well,  I'll  have  a  little  wisit  wid  Jim,  an'  des' 
see  how  much  he  'fected,  an'  if  dey  any  stroke  to 
be  put  in  fu'  de  gospel  ahmy,  you  des'  count  on 
me  ez  a  mighty  strong  wa'ior.  Dat  boy  been 
layin'  heavy  on  my  mind  fu'  lo,  dese  many 
days." 

As  a  result  of  this  agreement,  the  old  man 
went  down  to  Jim's  cabin  on  a  night  when  that 


JIM'S  PROBATION  169 

interesting  sinner  was  suffering  particularly  from 
his  rheumatic  pains. 

"Well,  Jim,"  the  preacher  said,  "how  you 
come  on  ?" 

"Po'ly,  po'ly,"  said  Jim,  "I  des'  plum'  racked 
an'  'stracted  fom  haid  to  foot." 

"  Uh,  huh,  hit  do  seem  lak  to  me  de  Bible 
don'  tell  nuffm'  else  but  de  trufe." 

"What  de  Bible  been  sayin'  now  ?"  asked  Jim 
'suspiciously. 

"  Des'  what  it  been  sayin'  all  de  res'  o'  de  time. 
'  Yo'  sins  will  fin'  you  out.' ' 

Jim  groaned  and  turned  uneasily  in  his  chair. 
The  old  man  saw  that  he  had  made  a  point  and 
pursued  it. 

"Don'  you  reckon  now,  Jim,  ef  you  was  a 
bettah  man  dat  you  wouldn'  suffah  so  ?  " 

"I  do'  know,  I  do'  know  nuffin'  'bout  hit." 

"Now  des'  look  at  me.  I  ben  a-trompin' 
erlong  in  dis  low  groun'  o'  sorrer  fu'  mo'  den 
seventy  yeahs,  an'  I  hain't  got  a  ache  ner  a  pain. 
Nevah  had  no  rheumatics  in  my  life,  an'  yere  you 
is,  a  young  man,  in  a  mannah  o'  speakin',  all 
twinged  up  wid  rheumatics.  Now  what  dat 
p'int  to?  Hit  mean  de  Lawd  tek  keer  o'  dem 
dat's  his'n.  Now  Jim,  you  bettah  come  ovah  on 


170  JIM'S  PROBATION 

de  Lawd's  side,  an'  git  erway  f  om  yo'  ebil 
doin's." 

Jim  groaned  again,  and  lifted  his  swollen  leg 
with  an  effort  just  as  Brother  Parker  said,  "Let 
us  pray." 

The  prayer  itself  was  less  effective  than  the  re 
quest  was  just  at  that  time  for  Jim  was  so  stiff 
that  it  made  him  fairly  howl  with  pain  to  get 
down  on  his  knees.  The  old  man's  supplication 
was  loud,  deep,  and  diplomatic,  and  when  they 
arose  from  their  knees  there  were  tears  in  Jim's 
eyes,  but  whether  from  cramp  or  contrition  it  is 
not  safe  to  say.  But  a  day  or  two  after,  the  visit 
bore  fruit  in  the  appearance  of  Jim  at  meeting 
where  he  sat  on  one  of  the  very  last  benches,  his 
shoulders  hunched,  and  his  head  bowed,  unmis 
takable  signs  of  the  convicted  sinner. 

The  usual  term  of  mourning  passed,  and  Jim 
was  converted,  much  to  Mandy's  joy,  and 
Brother  Parker's  delight.  The  old  man  called 
early  on  his  master  after  the  meeting,  and  an 
nounced  the  success  of  his  labors.  Stuart  Mor- 
daunt  himself  was  no  less  pleased  than  the 
preacher.  He  shook  Parker  warmly  by  the 
hand,  patted  him  on  the  shoulder,  and  called 
him  a  "sly  old  fox."  And  then  he  took  him  to 


JIM'S  PROBATION  171 

the  cupboard,  and  gave  him  of  his  store  of  good 
tobacco,  enough  to  last  him  for  months.  Some 
thing  else,  too,  he  must  have  given  him,  for  the 
old  man  came  away  from  the  cupboard  grinning 
broadly,  and  ostentatiously  wiping  his  mouth 
with  the  back  of  his  hand. 

"Great  work  you've  done,  Parker,  a  great 
work." 

"Yes,  yes,  Mas',"  grinned  the  old  man,  "now 
ef  Jim  can  des'  stan'  out  his  p'obation,  hit'll  be 
montrous  fine." 

"  His  probation!  "  exclaimed  the  master. 

"Oh  yes  suh,  yes  suh,  we  has  all  de  young 
convu'ts  stan'  a  p'obation  o'  six  months,  fo'  we 
teks  'em  reg'lar  inter  de  chu'ch.  Now  ef  Jim 
will  des'  stan'  strong  in  de  faif " 

"Parker,"  said  Mordaunt,  "you're  an  old 
wretch,  and  I've  got  a  mind  to  take  every  bit  of 
that  tobacco  away  from  you.  No.  I'll  tell  you 
what  I'll  do." 

He  went  back  to  the  cupboard  and  got  as  much 
again  as  he  had  given  Parker,  and  handed  it  to 
him  saying, 

"I  think  it  will  be  better  for  all  concerned  if 
Jim's  probation  only  lasts  two  months.  Get  him 
into  the  fold,  Parker,  get  him  into  the  fold!" 


172  JIM'S  PROBATION 

And  he  shoved  the  ancient  exhorter  out  of  the 
door. 

It  grieved  Jim  that  he  could  not  go  'possum 
hunting  on  Sundays  any  more,  but  shortly  after 
he  got  religion,  his  rheumatism  seemed  to  take  a 
turn  for  the  better  and  he  felt  that  the  result  was 
worth  the  sacrifice.  But  as  the  pain  decreased  in 
his  legs  and  arms,  the  longing  for  his  old  wicked 
pleasures  became  stronger  and  stronger  upon  him 
though  Mandy  thought  that  he  was  living  out 
the  period  of  his  probation  in  the  most  exemplary 
manner,  and  inwardly  rejoiced. 

It  was  two  weeks  before  he  was  to  be  regularly 
admitted  to  church  fellowship.  His  industrious 
spouse  had  decked  him  out  in  a  bleached  cotton 
shirt  in  which  to  attend  divine  service.  In  the 
morning  Jim  was  there.  The  sermon  which 
Brother  Parker  preached  was  powerful,  but 
somehow  it  failed  to  reach  this  new  convert. 
His  gaze  roved  out  of  the  window  toward  the 
dark  line  of  the  woods  beyond,  where  the  frost 
still  glistened  on  the  trees  and  where  he  knew 
the  persimmons  were  hanging  ripe.  Jim  was 
present  at  the  afternoon  service  also,  for  it  was  a 
great  day;  and  again,  he  was  preoccupied.  He 
started  and  clasped  his  hands  together  until  the 


JIM'S  PROBATION  173 

bones  cracked,  when  a  dog  barked  somewhere 
out  on  the  hill.  The  sun  was  going  down  over 
the  tops  of  the  woodland  trees,  throwing  the 
forest  into  gloom,  as  they  came  out  of  the  log 
meeting-house.  Jim  paused  and  looked  lovingly 
at  the  scene,  and  sighed  as  he  turned  his  steps 
back  toward  the  cabin. 

That  night  Mandy  went  to  church  alone.  Jim 
had  disappeared.  Nowhere  around  was  his  axe, 
and  Spot,  his  dog,  was  gone.  Mandy  looked 
over  toward  the  woods  whose  tops  were  feath 
ered  against  the  frosty  sky,  and  away  off,  she 
heard  a  dog  bark. 

Brother  Parker  was  feeling  his  way  home  from 
meeting  late  that  night,  when  all  of  a  sudden,  he 
came  upon  a  man  creeping  toward  the  quarters. 
The  man  had  an  axe  and  a  dog,  and  over  his 
shoulders  hung  a  bag  in  which  the  outlines  of  a 
'possum  could  be  seen. 

"  Hi,  oh,  Brothah  Jim,  at  it  agin  ?  " 

Jim  did  not  reply.  "Well,  des'  heish  up  an' 
go  'long.  We  got  to  mek  some  'lowances  fu' 
you  young  convu'ts.  W'en  you  gwine  cook  dat 
'possum,  Brothah  Jim  ?  " 

"I  do'  know,  Brothah  Pahkah.  He  so  po',  I 
'low  I  haveter  keep  him  and  fatten  him  fu'  awhile." 


174  JIM'S  PROBATION 

"  Uh,  huh!  well,  so  long,  Jim." 

"So  long,  Brothah  Pahkah."  Jim  chuckled  as 
he  went  away.  "I  'low  I  fool  dat  ol'  fox. 
Wanter  come  down  an'  eat  up  my  one  little  'pos 
sum,  do  he?  huh,  uh!" 

So  that  very  night  Jim  scraped  his  possum,  and 
hung  it  out-of-doors,  and  the  next  day,  brown  as 
the  forest  whence  it  came,  it  lay  on  a  great  plat 
ter  on  Jim's  table.  It  was  a  fat  possum  too.  Jim 
had  just  whetted  his  knife,  and  Mandy  had  just 
finished  the  blessing  when  the  latch  was  lifted 
and  Brother  Parker  stepped  in. 

"Hi,  oh,  Brothah  Jim,  I's  des'  in  time." 

Jim  sat  with  his  mouth  open.  "Draw  up  a 
cheer,  Brothah  Pahkah,"  said  Mandy.  Her  hus 
band  rose,  and  put  his  hand  over  the  possum. 

"Wha — wha'd  you  come  hyeah  fu'?"  he 
asked. 

"I  thought  I'd  des'  come  in  an'  tek  a  bite  wid 
you." 

"  Ain'  gwine  tek  no  bite  wid  me,"  said  Jim. 

"Heish/'said  Mandy,  "wha'  kin'  o' way  is 
dat  to  talk  to  de  preachah  ?  " 

"  Preachah  er  no  preachah,  you  hyeah  what  I 
say,"  and  he  took  the  possum,  and  put  it  on  the 
highest  shelf. 


JIM'S  PROBATION  175 

"  Wha's  de  mattah  wid  you,  Jim;  dat's  one  o' 
de'  'quiahments  o'  de  chu'ch." 

The  angry  man  turned  to  the  preacher. 

"Is  it  one  o'  de  'quiahments  o'  de  chu'ch  dat 
you  eat  hyeah  ter-night  ?  " 

"Hit  sholy  am  usual  fu' de  shepherd  to  sup 
wherevah  he  stop,"  said  Parker  suavely. 

"  Ve'y  well,  ve'y  well,"  said  Jim,  "I  wants 
you  to  know  dat  I  'specs  to  stay  out  o'  yo'  chu'ch. 
1's  got  two  weeks  mo'  p'obation.  You  tek  hit 
back,  an'  gin  hit  to  de  nex'  niggah  you  ketches 
wid  a  'possum." 

Mandy  was  horrified.  The  preacher  looked 
longingly  at  the  possum,  and  took  up  his  hat  to 

go- 
There  were  two  disappointed  men  on  the  plan 
tation  when  he  told  his  master  the  next  day  the 
outcome  of  Jim's  probation. 


UNCLE  SIMON'S 
SUNDAYS  OUT 


177 


UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT 

MR.  MARSTON  sat  upon  his  wide  veranda  in  the 
cool  of  the  summer  Sabbath  morning.  His  hat 
was  off,  the  soft  breeze  was  playing  with  his 
brown  hair,  and  a  fragrant  cigar  was  rolled 
lazily  between  his  lips.  He  was  taking  his  ease 
after  the  fashion  of  a  true  gentleman.  But  his 
eyes  roamed  widely,  and  his  glance  rested  now 
on  the  blue-green  sweep  of  the  great  lawn,  again 
on  the  bright  blades  of  the  growing  corn,  and 
anon  on  the  waving  fields  of  tobacco,  and  he 
sighed  a  sigh  of  ineffable  content.  The  breath 
had  hardly  died  on  his  lips  when  the  figure  of  an 
old  man  appeared  before  him,  and,  hat  in  hand, 
shuffled  up  the  wide  steps  of  the  porch. 

It  was  a  funny  old  figure,  stooped  and  so  one 
sided  that  the  tail  of  the  long  and  shabby  coat  he 
wore  dragged  on  the  ground.  The  face  was 
black  and  shrewd,  and  little  patches  of  snow- 
white  hair  fringed  the  shiny  pate. 

''Good-morning,    Uncle    Simon,"    said    Mr. 

Marston,  heartily. 

179 


i8o      UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT 

"  Mornin'  Mas'  Gawge.     How  you  come  on  ?  " 

"I'm  first-rate.  How  are  you?  How  are 
your  rheumatics  coming  on  ?  " 

"Oh,  my,  dey's  mos'  nigh  well.  Dey  don' 
trouble  me  no  mo' !  " 

"Most  nigh  well,  don't  trouble  you  any 
more  ?" 

"Dat  is  none  to  speak  of." 

"Why,  Uncle  Simon,  who  ever  heard  tell  of  a 
man  being  cured  of  his  aches  and  pains  at  your 
age?" 

"  I  ain'  so  powahful  ol',  Mas',  I  ain'  so  powah- 
ful  ol'." 

"You're  not  so  powerful  old!  Why,  Uncle 
Simon,  what's  taken  hold  of  you  ?  You're  eighty 
if  a  day." 

"Sh — sh,  talk  dat  kin'  o'  low,  Mastah,  don' 
'spress  yo'se'f  so  loud!"  and  the  old  man  looked 
fearfully  around  as  if  he  feared  some  one  might 
hear  the  words. 

The  master  fell  back  in  his  seat  in  utter  sur 
prise. 

"And,  why,  I  should  like  to  know,  may  I  not 
speak  of  your  age  aloud  ?  " 

Uncle  Simon  showed  his  two  or  three  remain 
ing  teeth  in  a  broad  grin  as  he  answered: 


UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT       181 

"  Well,  Mastah,  Fs  'fraid  ol'  man  Time  mought 
hyeah  you  an'  t'ink  he  done  let  me  run  too  long." 
He  chuckled,  and  his  master  joined  him  with  a 
merry  peal  of  laughter. 

"All  right,  then,  Simon,"  he  said,  "I'll  try  not 
to  give  away  any  of  your  secrets  to  old  man 
Time.  But  isn't  your  age  written  down  some 
where?" 

"I  reckon  it's  in  dat  ol'  Bible  yo'  pa  gin  me." 

"Oh,  let  it  alone  then,  even  Time  won't  find  it 
there." 

The  old  man  shifted  the  weight  of  his  body 
from  one  leg  to  the  other  and  stood  embarrassedly 
twirling  his  ancient  hat  in  his  hands.  There  was 
evidently  something  more  that  he  wanted  to  say. 
He  had  not  come  to  exchange  commonplaces 
with  his  master  about  age  or  its  ailments. 

"Well,  what  is  it  now,  Uncle  Simon?"  the 
master  asked,  heeding  the  servant's  embarrass 
ment,  "I  know  you've  come  up  to  ask  or  tell  me 
something.  Have  any  of  your  converts  been 
backsliding,  or  has  Buck  been  misbehaving 
again  ?  " 

"No,  suh,  de  converts  all  seem  to  be  stan'in' 
strong  in  de  faif,  and  Buck,  he  actin'  right  good 
now." 


1 82      UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT 

"Doesn't  Lize  bring  your  meals  regular,  and 
cook  them  good  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  suh,  Lize  ain'  done  nuffin'.  Dey 
ain'  nuffin'  de  mattah  at  de  quahtahs,  nuffin' 
Yal." 

"Well,  what  on  earth  then " 

"Hoi'  on,  Mas',  hoi'  on!  I  done  tol'  you  dey 
ain'  nuffin'  de  mattah  'mong  de  people,  an'  I  ain' 
come  to  'plain  'bout  nuffin';  but— but— I  wants  to 
speak  to  you  'bout  somefin'  mighty  partic'ler." 

"Well,  go  on,  because  it  will  soon  be  time  for 
you  to  be  getting  down  to  the  meeting-house  to 
exhort  the  hands." 

"Dat's  jes'  what  I  want  to  speak  'bout,  dat 
'zortin'." 

"  Well,  you've  been  doing  it  for  a  good  many 
years  now." 

"  Dat's  de  very  idee,  dat's  in  my  haid  now. 
Mas'  Gawge,  huccume  you  read  me  so  nigh 
right  ?  " 

"Oh,  that's  not  reading  anything,  that's  just 
truth.  But  what  do  you  mean,  Uncle  Simon,  you 
don't  mean  to  say  that  you  want  to  resign.  Why 
what  would  your  old  wife  think  if  she  was 
living  ?  " 

"No,  no,  Mas'  Gawge,  I  don't  ezzactly  want 


UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT       183 

to  'sign,  but  I'd  jes'  lak  to  have  a  few  Sundays 
off." 

"  A  few  Sundays  off!  Well,  now,  I  do  believe 
that  you  are  crazy.  What  on  earth  put  that  into 
your  head?" 

"Muffin',  Mas'  Gawge,  I  wants  to  be  away 
f  om  my  Sabbaf  labohs  fu'  a  little  while,  dat's  all." 

"Why,  what  are  the  hands  going  to  do  for 
some  one  to  exhort  them  on  Sunday.  You 
know  they've  got  to  shout  or  burst,  and  it  used 
to  be  your  delight  to  get  them  stirred  up  until  all 
the  back  field  was  ringing." 

"I  do'  say  dat  I  ain'  gwine  try  an'  do  dat  some 
mo',  Mastah,  min'  I  do'  say  dat.  But  in  de  mean 
time  I's  got  somebody  else  to  tek  my  place,  one 
dat  I  trained  up  in  de  wo'k  right  undah  my  own 
han'.  Mebbe  he  ain'  endowed  wif  de  sperrit  as  I 
is,  all  men  cain't  be  gifted  de  same  way,  but  dey 
ain't  no  sputin'  he  is  powahful.  Why,  he  can 
handle  de  Scriptures  wif  bof  han's,  an'  you  kin 
hyeah  him  prayin'  fu'  two  miles." 

"And  you  want  to  put  this  wonder  in  your 
place  ?  " 

"Yes,  suh,  fu'  a  while,  anyhow." 

"Uncle  Simon,  aren't  you  losing  your  re 
ligion  ?  " 


1 84      UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT 

"Losin'  my  u'ligion?  Who,  me  losin'  my 
u'ligion!  No,  suh." 

"Well,  aren't  you  afraid  you'll  lose  it  on  the 
Sundays  that  you  spend  out  of  your  meeting 
house?" 

"Now,  Mas'  Gawge,  you  a  white  man,  an'  you 
my  mastah,  an'  you  got  larnin'.  But  what  kin'  o' 
argyment  is  dat  ?  Is  dat  good  jedgment  ?  " 

"Well,  now  if  it  isn't,  you  show  me  why, 
you're  a  logician."  There  was  a  twinkle  in  the 
eye  of  George  Marston  as  he  spoke. 

"No,  I  ain'  no  'gician,  Mastah,"  the  old  man 
contended.  "  But  what  kin'  o'  u'ligion  you  spec' 
I  got  anyhow  ?  Hyeah  me  been  sto'in'  it  up  fu' 
lo,  dese  many  yeahs  an'  ain'  got  enough  to  las' 
ovah  a  few  Sundays.  What  kin'  o'  u'ligion  is 
dat?" 

The  master  laughed,  "I  believe  you've  got 
me  there,  Uncle  Simon;  well  go  along,  but  see 
that  your  flock  is  well  tended." 

"Thanky,  Mas'  Gawge,  thanky.  I'll  put  a 
shepherd  in  my  place  dat'll  put  de  food  down  so 
low  dat  de  littles'  lambs  kin  enjoy  it,  but'll  mek  it 
strong  enough  fu'  de  oldes'  ewes."  And  with  a 
profound  bow  the  old  man  went  down  the  steps 
and  hobbled  away. 


UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT       185 

As  soon  as  Uncle  Simon  was  out  of  sight, 
George  Marston  threw  back  his  head  and  gave  a 
long  shout  of  laughter. 

"I  wonder,"  he  mused,  "what  crotchet  that 
old  darkey  has  got  into  his  head  now.  He  comes 
with  all  the  air  of  a  white  divine  to  ask  for  a 
vacation.  Well,  I  reckon  he  deserves  it.  He 
had  me  on  the  religious  argument,  too.  He's  got 
his  grace  stored."  And  another  peal  of  her  hus 
band's  laughter  brought  Mrs.  Marston  from  the 
house. 

"George,  George,  what  is  the  matter.  What 
amuses  you  so  that  you  forget  that  this  is  the 
Sabbath  day  ?  " 

"Oh,  don't  talk  to  me  about  Sunday  any  more, 
when  it  comes  to  the  pass  that  the  Reverend  Simon 
Marston  wants  a  vacation.  It  seems  that  the 
cares  of  his  parish  have  been  too  pressing  upon 
him  and  he  wishes  to  be  away  for  some  time. 
He  does  not  say  whether  he  will  visit  Europe  or 
the  Holy  Land,  however,  we  shall  expect  him  to 
come  back  with  much  new  and  interesting  ma 
terial  for  the  edification  of  his  numerous  congre 
gation." 

"I  wish  you  would  tell  me  what  you  mean  by 
all  this." 


1 86      UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT 

Thus  adjured,  George  Marston  curbed  his 
amusement  long  enough  to  recount  to  his  wife 
the  particulars  of  his  interview  with  Uncle  Simon. 

"Well,  well,  and  you  carry  on  so,  only  be 
cause  one  of  the  servants  wishes  his  Sundays  to 
himself  for  awhile  ?  Shame  on  you!  " 

"Mrs.  Marston,"  said  her  husband,  solemnly, 
"  you  are  hopeless — positively,  undeniably,  hope 
less.  I  do  not  object  to  your  failing  to  see  the 
humor  in  the  situation,  for  you  are  a  woman; 
but  that  you  should  not  be  curious  as  to 
the  motives  which  actuate  Uncle  Simon,  that 
you  should  be  unmoved  by  a  burning  desire  to 
know  why  this  staunch  old  servant  who  has  for 
so  many  years  pictured  hell  each  Sunday  to  his 
fellow-servants  should  wish  a  vacation — that  I 
can  neither  understand  nor  forgive." 

"Oh,  I  can  see  .why  easily  enough,  and  so 
could  you,  if  you  were  not  so  intent  on  laughing 
at  everything.  The  poor  old  man  is  tired  and 
wants  rest,  that's  all."  And  Mrs.  Marston  turned 
into  the  house  with  a  stately  step,  for  she  was  a 
proud  and  dignified  lady. 

"And  that  reason  satisfies  you?  Ah,  Mrs. 
Marston,  Mrs.  Marston,  you  discredit  your  sex!  " 
her  husband  sighed,  mockingly  after  her. 


UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT       187 

There  was  perhaps  some  ground  for  George 
Marston's  perplexity  as  to  Uncle  Simon's  inten 
tions.  His  request  for  "Sundays  off"  was  so 
entirely  out  of  the  usual  order  of  things.  The 
old  man,  with  the  other  servants  on  the  planta 
tion  had  been  bequeathed  to  Marston  by  his 
father.  Even  then,  Uncle  Simon  was  an  old 
man,  and  for  many  years  in  the  elder  Marston's 
time  had  been  the  plantation  exhorter.  In  this 
position  he  continued,  and  as  his  age  increased, 
did  little  of  anything  else.  He  had  a  little  log 
house  built  in  a  stretch  of  woods  convenient  to 
the  quarters,  where  Sunday  after  Sunday  he  held 
forth  to  as  many  of  the  hands  as  could  be  en 
couraged  to  attend. 

With  time,  the  importance  of  his  situation 
grew  upon  him.  He  would  have  thought  as 
soon  of  giving  up  his  life  as  his  pulpit  to  any  one 
else.  He  was  never  absent  a  single  meeting  day 
in  all  that  time.  Sunday  after  Sunday  he  was  in 
his  place  expounding  his  doctrine.  He  had  grown 
officious,  too,  and  if  any  of  his  congregation  were 
away  from  service,  Monday  morning  found  him 
early  at  their  cabins  to  find  out  the  reason  why. 

After  a  life,  then,  of  such  punctilious  rigidity, 
it  is  no  wonder  that  his  master  could  not  accept 


1 88      UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT 

Mrs.  Marston's  simple  excuse  for  Uncle  Simon's 
dereliction,  "that  the  old  man  needed  rest."  For 
the  time  being,  the  good  lady  might  have  her 
way,  as  all  good  ladies  should,  but  as  for  him,  he 
chose  to  watch  and  wait  and  speculate. 

Mrs.  Marston,  however,  as  well  as  her  hus 
band,  was  destined  to  hear  more  that  day  of  Un 
cle  Simon's  strange  move,  for  there  was  one 
other  person  on  the  place  who  was  not  satisfied 
with  Uncle  Simon's  explanation  of  his  conduct, 
and  yet  could  not  as  easily  as  the  mistress  formu 
late  an  opinion  of  her  own.  This  was  Lize,  who 
did  about  the  quarters  and  cooked  the  meals  of 
the  older  servants  who  were  no  longer  in  active 
service. 

It  was  just  at  the  dinner  hour  that  she  came 
hurrying  up  to  the  "big  house,"  and  with  the 
freedom  of  an  old  and  privileged  retainer  went 
directly  to  the  dining-room. 

"Look  hyeah,  Mis'  M'ree,"  she  exclaimed, 
without  the  formality  of  prefacing  her  remarks, 
"  I  wants  to  know  whut's  de  mattah  wif  Brothah 
Simon — what  mek  him  ac'  de  way  he  do  ?" 

"Why,  I  do  not  know,  Eliza,  what  has  Uncle 
Simon  been  doing?" 

"Why,  some  o'  you  all  mus'  know,  lessn'  he 


UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT       189 

couldn'  'a'  done  hit.  Ain'  he  ax  you  nuffin', 
Marse  Gawge?" 

"  Yes,  he  did  have  some  talk  with  me." 

"Some  talk!  I  reckon  he  did  have  some  talk 
wif  somebody!" 

"Tell  us,  Lize,"  Mr.  Marston  said,  "  what  has 
Uncle  Simon  done  ?  " 

"He  done  brung  somebody  else,  dat  young 
Merrit  darky,  to  oc'py  his  pu'pit.  He  in'juce 
him,  an'  'en  he  say  dat  he  gwine  be  absent  a  few 
Sundays,  an'  'en  he  tek  hissef  off,  outen  de 
chu'ch,  widout  even  waitin'  fu'  de  sehmont." 

"Well,  didn't  you  have  a  good  sermon?" 

"  It  mought  'a'  been  a  good  sehmont,  but  dat 
ain'  whut  I  ax  you.  1  want  to  know  whut  de 
mattah  wif  Brothah  Simon." 

"  Why,  he  told  me  that  the  man  he  put  over 
you  was  one  of  the  most  powerful  kind,  war 
ranted  to  make  you  shout  until  the  last  bench 
was  turned  over." 

"Oh,  some  o'  dem,  dey  shouted  enough,  dey 
shouted  dey  fill.  But  dat  ain'  whut  I's  drivin'  at 
yit.  Whut  I  wan'  'o  know,  whut  mek  Brothah 
Simon  do  dat  ?  " 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you,  Lize,"  Marston  began,  but 
his  wife  cut  him  off. 


190      UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT 

"  Now,  George,"  she  said,  "  you  shall  not  trifle 
with  Eliza  in  that  manner."  Then  turning  to  the 
old  servant,  she  said:  "  Eliza,  it  means  nothing. 
Do  not  trouble  yourself  about  it.  You  know 
Uncle  Simon  is  old;  he  has  been  exhorting  for 
you  now  for  many  years,  and  he  needs  a  little 
rest  these  Sundays.  It  is  getting  toward  mid 
summer,  and  it  is  warm  and  wearing  work  to 
preach  as  Uncle  Simon  does." 

Lize  stood  still,  with  an  incredulous  and  unsat 
isfied  look  on  her  face.  After  a  while  she  said, 
dubiously  shaking  her  head: 

"Huh  uh!  Miss  M'ree,  dat  may  'splain  t'ings 
to  you,  but  hit  ain'  mek  'em  light  to  me  yit." 

"Now,  Mrs.  Marston  "—began  her  husband, 
chuckling. 

"Hush,  I  tell  you,  George.  It's  really  just  as  I 
tell  you,  Eliza,  the  old  man  is  tired  and  needs  rest! " 

Again  the  old  woman  shook  her  head,  "  Huh 
uh,"  she  said,  "  ef  you'd'  a'  seen  him  gwine  lick- 
ety  split  outen  de  meetin'-house  you  wouldn'  a 
thought  he  was  so  tiahed." 

Marston  laughed  loud  and  long  at  this.  "  Well, 
Mrs.  Marston,"  he  bantered,  "  even  Lize  is  show 
ing  a  keener  perception  of  the  fitness  of  things 
than  you." 


UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT      191 

"  There  are  some  things  I  can  afford  to  be  ex 
celled  in  by  my  husband  and  my  servants.  For 
my  part,  I  have  no  suspicion  of  Uncle  Simon, 
and  no  concern  about  him  either  one  way  or  the 
other." 

"  'Scuse  me,  Miss  M'ree,"  said  Lize,  "I  didn' 
mean  no  ha'm  to  you,  but  I  ain'  a  trustin'  ol' 
Brothah  Simon,  I  tell  you." 

"  I'm  not  blaming  you,  Eliza;  you  are  sensible 
as  far  as  you  know." 

"  Ahem,"  said  Mr.  Marston. 

Eliza  went  out  mumbling  to  herself,  and  Mr. 
Marston  confined  his  attentions  to  his  dinner;  he 
chuckled  just  once,  but  Mrs.  Marston  met  his 
levity  with  something  like  a  sniff. 

On  the  first  two  Sundays  that  Uncle  Simon 
was  away  from  his  congregation  nothing  was 
known  about  his  whereabouts.  On  the  third 
Sunday  he  was  reported  to  have  been  seen  making 
his  way  toward  the  west  plantation.  Now  what 
did  this  old  man  want  there  ?  The  west  planta 
tion,  so  called,  was  a  part  of  the  Marston  domain, 
but  the  land  there  was  worked  by  a  number  of 
slaves  which  Mrs.  Marston  had  brought  with  her 
from  Louisiana,  where  she  had  given  up  her 
father's  gorgeous  home  on  the  Bayou  Lafourche, 


192      UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT 

together  with  her  proud  name  of  Marie  St.  Pierre 
for  George  Marston's  love.  There  had  been  so 
many  bickerings  between  the  Marston  servants 
and  the  contingent  from  Louisiana  that  the  two 
sets  had  been  separated,  the  old  remaining  on 
the  east  side  and  the  new  ones  going  to  the  west. 
So,  to  those  who  had  been  born  on  the  soil  the 
name  of  the  west  plantation  became  a  reproach. 
It  was  a  synonym  for  all  that  was  worldly, 
wicked  and  unregenerate.  The  east  plantation 
did  not  visit  with  the  west.  The  east  gave  a 
dance,  the  west  did  not  attend.  The  Marstons 
and  St  Pierres  in  black  did  not  intermarry.  If  a 
Marston  died,  a  St.  Pierre  did  not  sit  up  with 
him.  And  so  the  division  had  kept  up  for  years. 

It  was  hardly  to  be  believed  then  that  Uncle 
Simon  Marston,  the  very  patriarch  of  the  Marston 
flock,  was  visiting  over  the  border.  But  on  an 
other  Sunday  he  was  seen  to  go  straight  to  the 
west  plantation. 

At  her  first  opportunity  Lize  accosted  him  :— 

"Look  a-hyeah,  Brothah  Simon,  whut's  dis  I 
been  hyeahin'  'bout  you,  huh  ?" 

"Well,  sis'  Lize,  I  reckon  you'll  have  to  tell  me 
dat  yo'  se'f,  'case  I  do'  know.  Whut  you  been 
hyeahin'  ?  " 


UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT       193 

"  Brothah  Simon,  you's  a  ol'  man,  you's  ol'." 

"Well,  sis'  Lize,  dah  was  Methusalem." 

"I  ain'  jokin',  Brothah  Simon,  I  ain'  jokin', 
I's  a  talkin'  right  straightfo'wa'd.  Yo'  conduc' 
don'  look  right.  Hit  ain'  becomin'  to  you  as  de 
shepherd  of  a  flock." 

11  But  whut  I  been  doin',  sistah,  whut  I  been 
doin'  ?  " 

"  You  know." 

"I  reckon  I  do,  but  I  wan'  see  whethah  you 
does  er  not." 

"  You  been  gwine  ovah  to  de  wes'  plantation, 
dat's  whut  you  been  doin'.  You  can'  'ny  dat, 
you's  been  seed!" 

"  I  do'  wan'  'ny  it.     Is  dat  all?" 

"Is  dat  all!"  Lize  stood  aghast.  Then  she 
said  slowly  and  wonderingly,  "  Brothah  Simon, 
is  you  losin'  yo'  senses  er  yo'  grace?" 

"  I  ain'  losin'  one  ner  'tothah,  but  I  do'  see  no 
ha'm  in  gwine  ovah  to  de  wes'  plantation." 

"You  do'  see  no  ha'm  in  gwine  ovah  to  de 
wes'  plantation!  You  stan'  hyeah  in  sight  o' 
Gawd  an'  say  dat?" 

"Don't  git  so  'cited,  sis'  Lize,  you  mus'  mem- 
bah  dat  dey's  souls  on  de  wes'  plantation,  jes' 
same  as  dey  is  on  de  eas'." 


194      UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT 

"Yes,  an'  dey's  souls  in  hell,  too,"  the  old 
woman  fired  back. 

"Cose  dey  is,  but  dey's  already  damned;  but 
dey's  souls  on  de  wes'  plantation  to  be  saved." 

"Oomph,  uh,  uh,  uh!  "  grunted  Lize. 

"You  done  called  me  de  shepherd,  ain't  you, 
sistah  ?  Well,  sayin'  I  is,  when  dey's  little  lambs 
out  in  de  col'  an'  dey  ain'  got  sense  'nough  to 
come  in,  er  dey  do'  know  de  way,  whut  do  de 
shepherd  do  ?  Why,  he  go  out,  an'  he  hunt  up 
de  po'  shiverin',  bleatin'  lambs  and  brings  'em 
into  de  fol'.  Don't  you  bothah  'bout  de  wes' 
plantation,  sis'  Lize."  And  Uncle  Simon  hobbled 
off  down  the  road  with  surprising  alacrity,  leav 
ing  his  interlocutor  standing  with  mouth  and 
eyes  wide  open. 

"Well,  I  nevah!"  she  exclaimed  when  she 
could  get  her  lips  together,  "I  do  believe  de  day 
of  jedgmen'  is  at  han'." 

Of  course  this  conversation  was  duly  reported 
to  the  master  and  mistress,  and  called  forth  some 
strictures  from  Mrs.  Marston  on  Lize's  attempted 
interference  with  the  old  man's  good  work. 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Eliza, 
that  you  ought.  After  the  estrangement  of  all 
this  time  if  Uncle  Simon  can  effect  a  reconcilia- 


UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT      195 

tion  between  the  west  and  the  east  plantations, 
you  ought  not  to  lay  a  straw  in  his  way.  I  am 
sure  there  is  more  of  a  real  Christian  spirit  in 
that  than  in  shouting  and  singing  for  hours,  and 
then  coming  out  with  your  heart  full  of  malice. 
You  need  not  laugh,  Mr.  Marston,  you  need  not 
laugh  at  all.  I  am  very  much  in  earnest,  and  1 
do  hope  that  Uncle  Simon  will  continue  his  min 
istrations  on  the  other  side.  If  he  wants  to,  he 
can  have  a  room  built  in  which  to  lead  their 
worship." 

"  But  you  do'  want  him  to  leave  us  alto- 
gethah  ?" 

"If  you  do  not  care  to  share  your  meeting 
house  with  them,  they  can  have  one  of  their 
own." 

"But,  look  hyeah,  Missy,  dem  Lousiany  peo 
ple,  dey  bad — an'  dey  hoodoo  folks,  an'  dey 
Cath'lics  - 

"Eliza!" 

"'Scuse  me,  Missy,  chile,  bless  yo'  hea't,  you 
know  I  do'  mean  no  ha'm  to  you.  But  some 
how  I  do'  feel  right  in  my  hea't  'bout  Brothah 
Simon." 

"Never  mind,  Eliza,  it  is  only  evil  that  needs 
to  be  watched,  the  good  will  take  care  of  itself." 


196      UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT 

It  was  not  one,  nor  two,  nor  three  Sundays 
that  Brother  Simon  was  away  from  his  congrega 
tion,  but  six  passed  before  he  was  there  again. 
He  was  seen  to  be  very  busy  tinkering  around 
during  the  week,  and  then  one  Sunday  he  ap 
peared  suddenly  in  his  pulpit.  The  church 
nodded  and  smiled  a  welcome  to  him.  There 
was  no  change  in  him.  If  anything  he  was  more 
fiery  than  ever.  But,  there  was  a  change.  Lize, 
who  was  news-gatherer  and  carrier  extraordi 
nary,  bore  the  tidings  to  her  owners.  She  burst 
into  the  big  house  with  the  cry  of  "  Whut  I  tell 
you!  Whut  I  tell  you!  " 

"Well,  what  now,"  exclaimed  both  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Marston. 

"  Didn'  I  tell  you  ol'  Simon  was  up  to 
some'p'n  ?" 

"Out  with  it,"  exclaimed  her  master,  "out 
with  it,  I  knew  he  was  up  to  something,  too." 

"  George,  try  to  remember  who  you  are." 

"  Brothah  Simon  come  in  chu'ch  dis  mo'nin'  an' 
he  'scended  up  de  pulpit " 

"Weil,  what  of  that,  are  you  not  glad  he  is 
back?" 

"  Hoi'  on,  lemme  tell  you— he  'scended  up  de 
pu'pit,  an'  'menced  his  disco'se.  Well,  he  hadn't 


UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT      197 

no  sooner  got  sta'ted  when  in  walked  one  o'  dem 
brazen  Lousiany  wenches " 

-Eliza!" 

"Hoi"  on,  Miss  M'ree,  she  walked  in  lak  she 
owned  de  place,  an'  flopped  huhse'f  down  on  de 
front  seat." 

"Well,  what  if  she  did,"  burst  in  Mrs.  Mars- 
ton,  "she  had  a  right.  I  want  you  to  under 
stand,  you  and  the  rest  of  your  kind,  that  that 
meeting-house  is  for  any  of  the  hands  that  care 
to  attend  it.  The  woman  did  right.  I  hope 
she'll  come  again." 

"  I  hadn'  got  done  yit,  Missy.  Jes'  ez  soon 
ez  de  sehmont  was  ovah,  whut  mus'  Brothah 
Simon,  de  'zortah,  min'  you,  whut  mus'  he  do 
but  come  hoppin'  down  f'om  de  pu'pit,  an'  beau 
dat  wench  home!  'Scorted  huh  clah  'crost  de 
plantation  befo'  evahbody's  face.  Now  whut 
you  call  dat  ?  " 

"I  call  it  politeness,  that  is  what  I  call  it. 
What  are  you  laughing  at,  Mr.  Marston  ?  I  have 
no  doubt  that  the  old  man  was  merely  trying  to 
set  an  example  of  courtesy  to  some  of  the 
younger  men,  or  to  protect  the  woman  from  the 
insults  that  the  other  members  of  the  congrega 
tion  would  heap  upon  her.  Mr.  Marston,  I  do 


198      UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT 

wish  you  would  keep  your  face  serious.  There 
is  nothing  to  laugh  at  in  this  matter.  A  worthy  old 
man  tries  to  do  a  worthy  work,  his  fellow-serv 
ants  cavil  at  him,  and  his  master,  who  should 
encourage  him,  laughs  at  him  for  his  pains." 

"I  assure  you,  my  dear,  I'm  not  laughing  at 
Uncle  Simon." 

"Then  at  me,  perhaps;  that  is  infinitely  bet 
ter." 

"And  not  at  you,  either;  I'm  amused  at  the 
situation." 

"Well,  Manette  ca'ied  him  off  dis  mo'nin'," 
resumed  Eliza. 

"  Manette!  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Marston. 

"  It  was  Manette  he  was  a  beauin'.  Evahbody 
say  he  likin'  huh  moughty  well,  an'  dat  he  look  at 
huh  all  th'oo  preachin'." 

"Oh  my!  Manette's  one  of  the  nicest  girls  I 
brought  from  St.  Pierre.  I  hope— oh,  but  then 
she  is  a  young  woman,  she  would  not  think  of 
being  foolish  over  an  old  man." 

"1  do'  know,  Miss  M'ree.  De  ol'  men  is  de 
wuss  kin'.  De  young  oomans  knows  how  to 
tek  de  young  mans,  'case  dey  de  same  age,  an' 
dey  been  lu'nin'  dey  tricks  right  along  wif  dern'; 
but  de  ol'  men,  dey  got  sich  a  long  sta't  ahaid, 


UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT      199 

dey  been  lu'nin'  so  long.  Ef  I  had  a  darter,  I 
wouldn'  be  afeard  to  let  huh  tek  keer  o'  huhse'f 
wif  a  young  man,  but  ef  a  ol'  man  come  a 
cou'tin'  huh,  I'd  keep  my  own  two  eyes 
open." 

"Eliza,  you're  a  philosopher,"  said  Mr.  Mars- 
ton.  lt  You're  one  of  the  few  reasoners  of  your 
sex." 

"It  is  all  nonsense,"  said  his  wife.  "Why 
Uncle  Simon  is  old  enough  to  be  Manette's 
grandfather." 

"  Love  laughs  at  years." 

"  And  you  laugh  at  everything." 

"That's  the  difference  between  love  and  me, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Marston." 

"Do  not  pay  any  attention  to  your  master, 
Eliza,  and  do  not  be  so  suspicious  of  every  one. 
It  is  all  right.  Uncle  Simon  had  Manette  over, 
because  he  thought  the  service  would  do  her 
good." 

"  Yes'm,  I  'low  she's  one  o'  de  young  lambs 
dat  he  gone  out  in  de  col'  to  fotch  in.  Well,  he 
tek'n'  moughty  good  keer  o'  dat  lamb." 

Mrs.  Marston  was  compelled  to  laugh  in  spite 
of  herself.  But  when  Eliza  was  gone,  she  turned 
to  her  husband,  and  said: 


200      UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT 

"  George,  dear,  do  you  really  think  there  is 
anything  in  it  ?  " 

"I  thoroughly  agree  with  you,  Mrs.  Marston, 
in  the  opinion  that  Uncle  Simon  needed  rest, 
and  I  may  add  on  my  own  behalf,  recrea 
tion." 

"  Pshaw!  I  do" not  believe  it." 

All  doubts,  however,  were  soon  dispelled. 
The  afternoon  sun  drove  Mr.  Marston  to  the  back 
veranda  where  he  was  sitting  when  Uncle  Simon 
again  approached  and  greeted  him. 

"Well,  Uncle  Simon,  I  hear  that  you're  back 
in  your  pulpit  again  ?  " 

"Yes,  suh,  I's  done 'sumed  my  labohs  in  de 
Mastah's  vineya'd." 

"  Have  you  had  a  good  rest  of  it  ?  " 

"Well,  I  ain'  ezzackly  been  restin',"  said  the 
aged  man,  scratching  his  head.  "I's  been  pu'- 
su'in'  othah  'ployments." 

"Oh,  yes,  but  change  of  work  is  rest.  And 
how's  the  rheumatism,  now,  any  better  ?  " 

"  Bettah  ?  Why,  Mawse  Gawge,  I  ain'  got  a 
smidgeon  of  hit.  I's  jes'  limpin'  a  leetle  bit  on 
'count  o'  habit." 

"  Well,  it's  good  if  one  can  get  well,  even  if  his 
days  are  nearly  spent." 


UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT      201 

"  Heish,  Mas'  Gawge.  1  ain'  t'inkin'  'bout 
dyin'." 

"  Aren't  you  ready  yet,  in  all  these  years  ?" 

"I  hope  I's  ready,  but  I  hope  to  be  spaihed  a 
good  many  yeahs  yit." 

"  To  do  good,  I  suppose  ?  "• 

"Yes,  suh;  yes,  suh.  Fac'  is,  Mawse  Gawge, 
I  jes'  hop  up  to  ax  you  some'p'n." 

"Well,  here  I  am." 

"I  want  to  ax  you — I  want  to  ax  you — er — er 
—I  want  - 

"Oh,  speak  out.  I  haven't  time  to  be  bother 
ing  here  all  day." 

"Well,  you  know,  Mawse  Gawge,  some  o'  us 
ain'  nigh  ez  ol'  ez  dey  looks." 

"That's  true.  A  person,  now,  would  take 
you  for  ninety,  and  to  my  positive  knowledge, 
you're  not  more  than  eighty-five." 

"Oh,  Lawd,  Mastah,  do  heish." 

"  I'm  not  flattering  you,  that's  the  truth." 

"Well,  now,  Mawse  Gawge,  couldn'  you 
rnek  me  look  lak  eighty-fo',  an'  be  a  little 
youngah  ?  " 

"Why,  what  do  you  want  to  be  younger 
for?" 

"You  see,  hit's  jes'  lak  dis,  Mawse  Gawge.     I 


202      UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT 

come  up  hyeah  to  ax  you— I  want— dat  is— me 
an'  Manette,  we  wants  to  git  ma'ied." 

"Get  married!"  thundered  Marston.  "What 
you,  you  old  scarecrow,  with  one  foot  in  the 
grave! " 

"Heish,  Mastatv'buse  me  kin'  o'  low.  Don't 
th'ow  yo'  words  'roun'  so  keerless." 

"This  is  what  you  wanted  your  Sundays  off 
for,  to  go  sparking  around — you  an  exhorter, 
too." 

"  But  I's  been  missin'  my  po'  ol'  wife  so  much 
hyeah  lately." 

"  You've  been  missing  her,  oh,  yes,  and  so  you 
want  to  get  a  woman  young  enough  to  be  your 
granddaughter  to  fill  her  place." 

"Well,  Mas'  Gawge,  you  know,  ef  I  is  ol'  an' 
feeble,  ez  you  say,  I  need  a  strong  young  han'  to 
he'p  me  down  de  hill,  an'  ef  Manette  don'  min' 
spa'in'  a  few  mont's  er  yeahs " 

"That'll  do,  I'll  see  what  your  mistress  says. 
Come  back  in  an  hour." 

A  little  touched,  and  a  good  deal  amused, 
Marston  went  to  see  his  wife.  He  kept  his  face 
straight  as  he  addressed  her.  "  Mrs.  Marston, 
Manette's  hand  has  been  proposed  for." 

"George!" 


UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT      203 

"The  Rev.  Simon  Marston  has  this  moment 
come  and  solemnly  laid  his  heart  at  my  feet  as 
proxy  for  Manette." 

11  He  shall  not  have  her,  he  shall  not  have  her!  " 
exclaimed  the  lady,  rising  angrily. 

"  But  remember,  Mrs.  Marston,  it  will  keep  her 
coming  to  meeting." 

"I  do  not  care;  he  is  an  old  hypocrite,  that  is 
what  he  is." 

"Think,  too,  of  what  a  noble  work  he  is  do 
ing.  It  brings  about  a  reconciliation  between  the 
east  and  west  plantations,  for  which  we  have 
been  hoping  for  years.  You  really  oughtn't  to 
lay  a  straw  in  his  way." 

"  He's  a  sneaking,  insidious,  old  scoundrel." 

"Such  poor  encouragement  from  his  mis 
tress  for  a  worthy  old  man,  who  only  needs 
rest!" 

"George!"  cried  Mrs.  Marston,  and  she  sank 
down  in  tears,  which  turned  to  convulsive  laugh 
ter  as  her  husband  put  his  arm  about  her  and 
whispered,  "  He  is  showing  the  true  Christian 
spirit.  Don't  you  think  we'd  better  call  Manette 
and  see  if  she  consents  ?  She  is  one  of  his  lambs, 
you  know." 

"Oh,  George,  George,  do  as  you  please.     If 


204      UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT 

the  horrid  girl  consents,  I  wash  my  hands  of  the 
whole  affair." 

"  You  know  these  old  men  have  been  learning 
such  a  long  while." 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Marston  was  as  much 
amused  as  her  husband.  Manette  was  accord 
ingly  called  and  questioned.  The  information 
was  elicited  from  her  that  she  loved  "Brothah 
Simon"  and  wished  to  marry  him. 

"  'Love  laughs  at  age,'"  quoted  Mr.  Marston 
again  when  the  girl  had  been  dismissed.  Mrs. 
Marston  was  laughingly  angry,  but  speechless 
for  a  moment.  Finally  she  said :  ' '  Well,  Manette 
seems  willing,  so  there  is  nothing  for  us  to  do 
but  to  consent,  although,  mind  you,  I  do  not  ap 
prove  of  this  foolish  marriage,  do  you  hear  ? " 

After  a  while  the  old  man  returned  for  his 
verdict.  He  took  it  calmly.  He  had  expected 
it.  The  disparity  in  the  years  of  him  and  his 
betrothed  did  not  seem  to  strike  his  conscious 
ness  at  all.  He  only  grinned. 

"  Now  look  here,  Uncle  Simon,"  said  his  mas 
ter,  "I  want  you  to  tell  me  how  you,  an  old, 
bad-looking,  half-dead  darky  won  that  likely 
young  girl." 

The    old    man    closed    one  eye  and   smiled. 


UNCLE  SIMON'S  SUNDAYS  OUT      205 

"  Mastah,  I  don'  b'lieve  you  looks  erroun'  you,"  he 
said.  "  Now,  'mongst  white  folks,  you  knows 
a  preachah  'mongst  de  ladies  is  mos'  nigh  i'sist- 
ible,  but  'mongst  col'ed  dey  ain't  no  pos'ble  way 
to  git  erroun'  de  gospel  man  w'en  he  go  ahuntin' 
fu'  anything." 


MR.  CORNELIUS  JOHNSON, 
OFFICE-SEEKER 


207 


MR.  CORNELIUS  JOHNSON,  OFFICE-SEEKER 

IT  was  a  beautiful  day  in  balmy  May  and  the 
sun  shone  pleasantly  on  Mr.  Cornelius  Johnson's 
very  spruce  Prince  Albert  suit  of  grey  as  he 
alighted  from  the  train  in  Washington.  He  cast 
his  eyes  about  him,  and  then  gave  a  sigh  of  re 
lief  and  satisfaction  as  he  took  his  bag  from  the 
porter  and  started  for  the  gate.  As  he  went 
along,  he  looked  with  splendid  complacency 
upon  the  less  fortunate  mortals  who  were  stream 
ing  out  of  the  day  coaches.  It  was  a  Pullman 
sleeper  on  which  he  had  come  in.  Out  on  the 
pavement  he  hailed  a  cab,  and  giving  the  driver 
the  address  of  a  hotel,  stepped  in  and  was  rolled 
away.  Be  it  said  that  he  had  cautiously  inquired 
about  the  hotel  first  and  found  that  he  could  be 
accommodated  there. 

As  he  leaned  back  in  the  vehicle  and  allowed 
his  eyes  to  roam  over  the  streets,  there  was  an 
air  of  distinct  prosperity  about  him.  It  was  in 
evidence  from  the  tips  of  his  ample  patent-leather 
shoes  to  the  crown  of  the  soft  felt  hat  that  sat 
209 


210          MR.  CORNELIUS  JOHNSON 

rakishly  upon  his  head.  His  entrance  into 
Washington  had  been  long  premeditated,  and  he 
had  got  himself  up  accordingly. 

It  was  not  such  an  imposing  structure  as  he 
had  fondly  imagined,  before  which  the  cab 
stopped  and  set  Mr.  Johnson  down.  But  then 
he  reflected  that  it  was  about  the  only  house 
where  he  could  find  accommodation  at  all,  and 
he  was  content.  In  Alabama  one  learns  to  be 
philosophical.  It  is  good  to  be  philosophical 
in  a  place  where  the  proprietor  of  a  cafe  fumbles 
vaguely  around  in  the  region  of  his  hip  pocket 
and  insinuates  that  he  doesn't  want  one's  custom. 
But  the  visitor's  ardor  was  not  cooled  for  all  that. 
He  signed  the  register  with  a  flourish,  and  be 
stowed  a  liberal  fee  upon  the  shabby  boy  who 
carried  his  bag  to  his  room. 

"Look  here,  boy,"  he  said,  "I  am  expecting 
some  callers  soon.  If  they  come,  just  send  them 
right  up  to  my  room.  You  take  good  care  of 
me  and  look  sharp  when  I  ring  and  you'll  not 
lose  anything." 

Mr.  Cornelius  Johnson  always  spoke  in  a  large 
and  important  tone.  He  said  the  simplest  thing 
with  an  air  so  impressive  as  to  give  it  the  char 
acter  of  a  pronouncement.  Indeed,  his  voice 


MR.  CORNELIUS  JOHNSON          211 

naturally  was  round,  mellifluous  and  persuasive. 
He  carried  himself  always  as  if  he  were  passing 
under  his  own  triumphal  arch.  Perhaps,  more 
than  anything  else,  it  was  these  qualities  of 
speech  and  bearing  that  had  made  him  invaluable 
on  the  stump  in  the  recent  campaign  in  Alabama. 
Whatever  it  was  that  held  the  secret  of  his 
power,  the  man  and  principles  for  which  he  had 
labored  triumphed,  and  he  had  come  to  Wash 
ington  to  reap  his  reward.  He  had  been  assured 
that  his  services  would  not  be  forgotten,  and  it 
was  no  intention  of  his  that  they  should  be. 

After  a  while  he  left  his  room  and  went  out, 
returning  later  with  several  gentlemen  from  the 
South  and  a  Washington  man.  There  is  some 
freemasonry  among  these  office-seekers  in  Wash 
ington  that  throws  them  inevitably  together. 
The  men  with  whom  he  returned  were  such 
characters  as  the  press  would  designate  as  "old 
wheel-horses"  or  "pillars  of  the  party."  They 
all  adjourned  to  the  bar,  where  they  had  some 
thing  at  their  host's  expense.  Then  they  repaired 
to  his  room,  whence  for  the  ensuing  two  hours 
the  bell  and  the  bell-boy  were  kept  briskly  going. 

The  gentleman  from  Alabama  was  in  his  glory. 
His  gestures  as  he  held  forth  were  those  of  a 


212  MR.  CORNELIUS  JOHNSON 

gracious  and  condescending  prince.  It  was  his 
first  visit  to  the  city,  and  he  said  to  the  Washing 
ton  man:  "I  tell  you,  sir,  you've  got  a  mighty 
fine  town  here.  Of  course,  there's  no  opportu 
nity  for  anything  like  local  pride,  because  it's  the 
outsiders,  or  the  whole  country,  rather,  that 
makes  it  what  it  is,  but  that's  nothing.  It's  a 
fine  town,  and  I'm  right  sorry  that  I  can't  stay 
longer." 

"  How  long  do  you  expect  to  be  with  us,  Pro 
fessor?"  inquired  Col.  Mason,  the  horse  who 
had  bent  his  force  to  the  party  wheel  in  the 
Georgia  ruts. 

"Oh,  about  ten  days,  I  reckon,  at  the  furthest. 
I  want  to  spend  some  time  sight-seeing.  I'll 
drop  in  on  the  Congressman  from  my  district  to 
morrow,  and  call  a  little  later  on  the  President." 

"Uh,  huh!  "said  Col.  Mason.  He  had  been 
in  the  city  for  some  time. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  want  to  get  through  with  my  little 
matter  and  get  back  home.  I'm  not  asking  for 
much,  and  I  don't  anticipate  any  trouble  in  secur 
ing  what  I  desire.  You  see,  it's  just  like  this, 
there's  no  way  for  them  to  refuse  us.  And  if  any 
one  deserves  the  good  things  at  the  hands  of  the 
administration,  who  more  than  we  old  cam- 


MR.  CORNELIUS  JOHNSON          213 

paigners,  who  have  been  helping  the  party 
through  its  fights  from  the  time  that  we  had  our 
first  votes?" 

"Who,  indeed  ?"  said  the  Washington  man. 

"  I  tell  you,  gentlemen,  the  administration  is  no 
fool.  It  knows  that  we  hold  the  colored  vote 
down  there  in  our  vest  pockets  and  it  ain't  going 
to  turn  us  down." 

"No,  of  course  not,  but  sometimes  there  are 
delays  — 

"Delays,  to  be  sure,  where  a  man  doesn't 
know  how  to  go  about  the  matter.  The  thing  to 
do,  is  to  go  right  to  the  centre  of  authority  at 
once.  Don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  chorused  the  other  gen 
tlemen. 

Before  going,  the  Washington  man  suggested 
that  the  newcomer  join  them  that  evening  and 
see  something  of  society  at  the  capital.  "You 
know,"  he  said,  "that  outside  of  New  Orleans, 
Washington  is  the  only  town  in  the  country  that 
has  any  colored  society  to  speak  of,  and  I  feel 
that  you  distinguished  men  from  different  sec 
tions  of  the  country  owe  it  to  our  people  that 
they  should  be  allowed  to  see  you.  It  would  be 
an  inspiration  to  them." 


214          MR.  CORNELIUS  JOHNSON 

So  the  matter  was  settled,  and  promptly  at  8:30 
o'clock  Mr.  Cornelius  Johnson  joined  his  friends 
at  the  door  of  his  hotel,  The  grey  Prince  Albert 
was  scrupulously  buttoned  about  his  form,  and  a 
shiny  top  hat  replaced  the  felt  of  the  afternoon. 
Thus  clad,  he  went  forth  into  society,  where  he 
need  be  followed  only  long  enough  to  note  the 
magnificence  of  his  manners  and  the  enthusiasm 
of  his  reception  when  he  was  introduced  as  Prof. 
Cornelius  Johnson,  of  Alabama,  in  a  tone  which 
insinuated  that  he  was  the  only  really  great  man 
his  state  had  produced. 

It  might  also  be  stated  as  an  effect  of  this  ex 
cursion  into  Vanity  Fair,  that  when  he  woke  the 
next  morning  he  was  in  some  doubt  as  to 
whether  he  should  visit  his  Congressman  or  send 
for  that  individual  to  call  upon  him.  He  had  felt 
the  subtle  flattery  of  attention  from  that  section 
of  colored  society  which  imitates — only  imitates, 
it  is  true,  but  better  than  any  other,  copies — the 
kindnesses  and  cruelties,  the  niceties  and  deceits, 
of  its  white  prototype.  And  for  the  time,  like  a 
man  in  a  fog,  he  had  lost  his  sense  of  proportion 
and  perspective.  But  habit  finally  triumphed, 
and  he  called  upon  the  Congressman,  only  to 
be  met  by  an  under-secretary  who  told  him 


MR.  CORNELIUS  JOHNSON          215 

that  his  superior  was  too  busy  to  see  him  that 
morning. 


"Too  busy,"  repeated  the  secretary. 

Mr.  Johnson  drew  himself  up  and  said:  "  Tell 
Congressman  Barker  that  Mr.  Johnson,  Mr.  Cor 
nelius  Johnson,  of  Alabama,  desires  to  see  him. 
I  think  he  will  see  me." 

"Well,  I  can  take  your  message,"  said  the 
clerk,  doggedly,  "but  I  tell  you  now  it  won't  do 
you  any  good.  He  won't  see  any  one." 

But,  in  a  few  moments  an  inner  door  opened, 
and  the  young  man  came  out  followed  by  the 
desired  one.  Mr.  Johnson  couldn't  resist  the 
temptation  to  let  his  eyes  rest  on  the  underling  in 
a  momentary  glance  of  triumph  as  Congressman 
Barker  hurried  up  to  him,  saying:  "Why,  why, 
Cornelius,  how'do  ?  how'do  ?  Ah,  you  came 
about  that  little  matter,  didn't  you  ?  Well,  well, 
I  haven't  forgotten  you;  I  haven't  forgotten 
you." 

The  colored  man  opened  his  mouth  to  speak, 
but  the  other  checked  him  and  went  on:  "I'm 
sorry,  but  I'm  in  a  great  hurry  now.  I'm  com 
pelled  to  leave  town  to-day,  much  against  my 
will,  but  I  shall  be  back  in  a  week;  come  around 


216          MR.  CORNELIUS  JOHNSON 

and  see  me  then.  Always  glad  to  see  you,  you 
know.  Sorry  I'm  so  busy  now;  good-morning, 
good-morning." 

Mr.  Johnson  allowed  himself  to  be  guided  po 
litely,  but  decidedly,  to  the  door.  The  triumph 
died  out  of  his  face  as  the  reluctant  good-morn 
ing  fell  from  his  lips.  As  he  walked  away,  he 
tried  to  look  upon  the  matter  philosophically. 
He  tried  to  reason  with  himself — to  prove  to  his 
own  consciousness  that  the  Congressman  was 
very  busy  and  could  not  give  the  time  that  morn 
ing.  He  wanted  to  make  himself  believe  that  he 
had  not  been  slighted  or  treated  with  scant  cere 
mony.  But,  try  as  he  would,  he  continued  to 
feel  an  obstinate,  nasty  sting  that  would  not  let 
him  rest,  nor  forget  his  reception.  His  pride  was 
hurt.  The  thought  came  to  him  to  go  at  once  to 
the  President,  but  he  had  experience  enough  to 
know  that  such  a  visit  would  be  vain  until  he 
had  seen  the  dispenser  of  patronage  for  his  dis 
trict.  Thus,  there  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but 
to  wait  the  necessary  week.  A  whole  week! 
His  brow  knitted  as  he  thought  of  it. 

In  the  course  of  these  cogitations,  his  walk 
brought  him  to  his  hotel,  where  he  found  his 
friends  of  the  night  before  awaiting  him.  He 


MR.  CORNELIUS  JOHNSON          217 

tried  to  put  on  a  cheerful  face.  But  his  disap 
pointment  and  humiliation  showed  through  his 
smile,  as  the  hollows  and  bones  through  the  skin 
of  a  cadaver. 

"Well,  what  luck?"  asked  Col.  Mason,  cheer 
fully. 

"Are  we  to  congratulate  you?"  put  in  Mr. 
Perry. 

"Not  yet,  not  yet,  gentlemen.  I  have  not  seen 
the  President  yet.  The  fact  is — ahem — my  Con 
gressman  is  out  of  town." 

He  was  not  used  to  evasions  of  this  kind,  and 
he  stammered  slightly  and  his  yellow  face  turned 
brick-red  with  shame. 

"It  is  most  annoying,"  he  went  on,  "most 
annoying.  Mr.  Barker  won't  be  back  for  a  week, 
and  I  don't  want  to  call  on  the  President  until  I 
have  had  a  talk  with  him." 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Col.  Mason,  blandly. 
"There  will  be  delays."  This  was  not  his  first 
pilgrimage  to  Mecca. 

Mr.  Johnson  looked  at  him  gratefully.  "Oh, 
yes;  of  course,  delays,"  he  assented;  "most 
natural.  Have  something." 

At  the  end  of  the  appointed  time,  the  office- 
seeker  went  again  to  see  the  Congressman.  This 


218          MR.  CORNELIUS  JOHNSON 

time  he  was  admitted  without  question,  and  got 
the  chance  to  state  his  wants.  But  somehow, 
there  seemed  to  be  innumerable  obstacles  in  the 
way.  There  were  certain  other  men  whose 
wishes  had  to  be  consulted;  the  leader  of  one  of 
the  party  factions,  who,  for  the  sake  of  harmony, 
had  to  be  appeased.  Of  course,  Mr.  Johnson's 
worth  was  fully  recognized,  and  he  would  be  re 
warded  according  to  his  deserts.  His  interests 
would  be  looked  after.  He  should  drop  in  again 
in  a  day  or  two.  It  took  time,  of  course,  it  took 
time. 

Mr.  Johnson  left  the  office  unnerved  by  his  dis 
appointment.  He  had  thought  it  would  be  easy 
to  come  up  to  Washington,  claim  and  get  what 
he  wanted,  and,  after  a  glance  at  the  town, 
hurry  back  to  his  home  and  his  honors.  It 
had  all  seemed  so  easy — before  election;  but 
now 

A  vague  doubt  began  to  creep  into  his  mind 
that  turned  him  sick  at  heart.  He  knew  how 
they  had  treated  Davis,  of  Louisiana.  He  had 
heard  how  they  had  once  kept  Brotherton,  of 
Texas — a  man  who  had  spent  all  his  life  in  the 
service  of  his  party— waiting  clear  through  a 
whole  administration,  at  the  end  of  which  the 


MR.  CORNELIUS  JOHNSON  219 

opposite  party  had  come  into  power.  All  the 
stories  of  disappointment  and  disaster  that  he  had 
ever  heard  came  back  to  him,  and  he  began  to 
wonder  if  some  one  of  these  things  was  going  to 
happen  to  him. 

Every  other  day  for  the  next  two  weeks,  he 
called  upon  Barker,  but  always  with  the  same  re 
sult.  Nothing  was  clear  yet,  until  one  day  the 
bland  legislator  told  him  that  considerations  of 
expediency  had  compelled  them  to  give  the  place 
he  was  asking  for  to  another  man. 

"But  what  am  I  to  do?"  asked  the  helpless 
man. 

"Oh,  you  just  bide  your  time.  I'll  lookout 
for  you.  Never  fear." 

Until  now,  Johnson  had  ignored  the  gentle 
hints  of  his  friend,  Col.  Mason,  about  a  boarding- 
house  being  more  convenient  than  a  hotel.  Now, 
he  asked  him  if  there  was  a  room  vacant  where  he 
was  staying,  and  finding  that  there  was,  he  had 
his  things  moved  thither  at  once.  He  felt  the 
change  keenly,  and  although  no  one  really  paid 
any  attention  to  it,  he  believed  that  all  Washing 
ton  must  have  seen  it,  and  hailed  it  as  the  first 
step  in  his  degradation. 

For  a  while  the  two  together  made  occasional 


220  MR.  CORNELIUS  JOHNSON 

excursions  to  a  glittering  palace  down  the  street, 
but  when  the  money  had  grown  lower  and  lower 
Col.  Mason  had  the  knack  of  bringing  "a  little 
something"  to  their  rooms  without  a  loss  of 
dignity.  In  fact,  it  was  in  these  hours  with  the 
old  man,  over  a  pipe  and  a  bit  of  something,  that 
Johnson  was  most  nearly  cheerful.  Hitch  after 
hitch  had  occurred  in  his  plans,  and  day  after  day 
he  had  come  home  unsuccessful  and  discouraged. 
The  crowning  disappointment,  though,  came 
when,  after  a  long  session  that  lasted  even  up 
into  the  hot  days  of  summer,  Congress  adjourned 
and  his  one  hope  went  away.  Johnson  saw  him 
just  before  his  departure,  and  listened  ruefully  as 
he  said:  "I  tell  you,  Cornelius,  now,  you'd  bet 
ter  go  on  home,  get  back  to  your  business  and 
come  again  next  year.  The  clouds  of  battle  will 
be  somewhat  dispelled  by  then  and  we  can  see 
clearer  what  to  do.  It  was  too  early  this  year. 
We  were  too  near  the  fight  still,  and  there  were 
party  wounds  to  be  bound  up  and  little  factional 
sores  that  had  to  be  healed.  But  next  year, 
Cornelius,  next  year  we'll  see  what  we  can  do 
for  you." 

His  constituent  did  not  tell  him  that  even  if  his 
pride  would  let  him  go  back  home  a  disappointed 


MR.  CORNELIUS  JOHNSON          221 

applicant,  he  had  not  the  means  wherewith  to 
go.  He  did  not  tell  him  that  he  was  trying  to 
keep  up  appearances  and  hide  the  truth  from  his 
wife,  who,  with  their  two  children,  waited  and 
hoped  for  him  at  home. 

When  he  went  home  that  night,  Col.  Mason 
saw  instantly  that  things  had  gone  wrong  with 
him.  But  here  the  tact  and  delicacy  of  the  old 
politician  came  uppermost  and,  without  trying  to 
draw  his  story  from  him— for  he  already  divined 
the  situation  too  well— he  sat  for  a  long  time 
telling  the  younger  man  stories  of  the  ups  and 
downs  of  men  whom  he  had  known  in  his  long 
and  active  life. 

They  were  stories  of  hardship,  deprivation  and 
discouragement.  But  the  old  man  told  them  ever 
with  the  touch  of  cheeriness  and  the  note  of 
humor  that  took  away  the  ghastly  hopelessness 
of  some  of  the  pictures.  He  told  them  with 
such  feeling  and  sympathy  that  Johnson  was 
moved  to  frankness  and  told  him  his  own  pitiful 
tale. 

Now  that  he  had  some  one  to  whom  he  could 
open  his  heart,  Johnson  himself  was  no  less  will 
ing  to  look  the  matter  in  the  face,  and  even  dur 
ing  the  long  summer  days,  when  he  had  begun 


222          MR.  CORNELIUS  JOHNSON 

to  live  upon  his  wardrobe,  piece  by  piece,  he  still 
kept  up;  although  some  of  his  pomposity  went, 
along  with  the  Prince  Albert  coat  and  the  shiny 
hat.  He  now  wore  a  shiny  coat,  and  less  showy 
head-gear.  For  a  couple  of  weeks,  too,  he  dis 
appeared,  and  as  he  returned  with  some  money, 
it  was  fair  to  presume  that  he  had  been  at  work 
somewhere,  but  he  could  not  stay  away  from  the 
city  long. 

It  was  nearing  the  middle  of  autumn  when  Col. 
Mason  came  home  to  their  rooms  one  day  to 
find  his  colleague  more  disheartened  and  de 
pressed  than  he  had  ever  seen  him  before.  He 
was  lying  with  his  head  upon  his  folded  arm, 
and  when  he  looked  up  there  were  traces  of  tears 
upon  his  face. 

"  Why,  why,  what's  the  matter  now  ?  "  asked 
the  old  man.  "No  bad  news,  I  hope." 

"Nothing  worse  than  I  should  have  expected," 
was  the  choking  answer.  "  It's  a  letter  from  my 
wife.  She's  sick  and  one  of  the  babies  is  down, 
but" — his  voice  broke — "she  tells  me  to  stay  and 
fight  it  out.  My  God,  Mason,  I  could  stand  it  if 
she  whined  or  accused  me  or  begged  me  to  come 
home,  but  her  patient,  long-suffering  bravery 
breaks  me  all  up." 


MR.  CORNELIUS  JOHNSON          223 

Col.  Mason  stood  up  and  folded  his  arms 
across  his  big  chest.  "She's  a  brave  little 
woman,"  he  said,  gravely.  "I  wish  her  hus 
band  was  as  brave  a  man."  Johnson  raised 
his  head  and  arms  from  the  table  where  they 
were  sprawled,  as  the  old  man  went  on:  "  The 
hard  conditions  of  life  in  our  race  have  taught 
our  women  a  patience  and  fortitude  which  the 
women  of  no  other  race  have  ever  displayed. 
They  have  taught  the  men  less,  and  I  am  sorry, 
very  sorry.  The  thing,  that  as  much  as  anything 
else,  made  the  blacks  such  excellent  soldiers  in  the 
civil  war  was  their  patient  endurance  of  hardship. 
The  softer  education  of  more  prosperous  days 
seems  to  have  weakened  this  quality.  The  man 
who  quails  or  weakens  in  this  fight  of  ours 
against  adverse  circumstances  would  have  quailed 
before — no,  he  would  have  run  from  an  enemy 
on  the  field." 

"Why,  Mason,  your  mood  inspires  me.  I 
feel  as  if  I  could  go  forth  to  battle  cheerfully." 
For  the  moment,  Johnson's  old  pomposity  had 
returned  to  him,  but  in  the  next,  a  wave  of 
despondency  bore  it  down.  "  But  that's  just  it; 
a  body  feels  as  if  he  could  fight  if  he  only  had 
something  to  fight.  But  here  you  strike  out  and 


224  MR.  CORNELIUS  JOHNSON 

hit— nothing.  It's  only  a  contest  with  time.  It's 
waiting — waiting — waiting!  " 

"  In  this  case,  waiting  is  fighting." 

"Well,  even  that  granted,  it  matters  not  how 
grand  his  cause,  the  soldier  needs  his  rations." 

"Forage,"  shot  forth  the  answer  like  a  com 
mand. 

"Ah,  Mason,  that's  well  enough  in  good 
country;  but  the  army  of  office-seekers  has 
devastated  Washington.  It  has  left  a  track 
as  bare  as  lay  behind  Sherman's  troopers." 
Johnson  rose  more  cheerfully.  "I'm  going  to 
the  telegraph  office,"  he  said  as  he  went  out. 

A  few  days  after  this,  he  was  again  in 
the  best  of  spirits,  for  there  was  money  in  his 
pocket. 

"What  have  you  been  doing?"  asked  Mr. 
Toliver. 

His  friend  laughed  like  a  boy.  "Something 
very  imprudent,  I'm  sure  you  will  say.  I've 
mortgaged  my  little  place  down  home.  It  did 
not  bring  much,  but  I  had  to  have  money  for  the 
wife  and  the  children,  and  to  keep  me  until  Con 
gress  assembles;  then  I  believe  that  everything 
will  be  all  right." 

CoL  Mason's  brow  clouded  and  he  sighed. 


MR.  CORNELIUS  JOHNSON          225 

On  the  reassembling  of  the  two  Houses,  Con 
gressman  Barker  was  one  of  the  first  men  in  his 
seat.  Mr.  Cornelius  Johnson  went  to  see  him 
soon. 

"What,  you  here  already,  Cornelius?"  asked 
the  legislator. 

"I  haven't  been  away,"  was  the  answer. 

"Well,  you've  got  the  hang-on,  and  that's 
what  an  officer-seeker  needs.  Well,  I'll  attend  to 
your  matter  among  the  very  first.  I'll  visit  the 
President  in  a  day  or  two." 

The  listener's  heart  throbbed  hard.  After  all 
his  waiting,  triumph  was  his  at  last. 

He  went  home  walking  on  air,  and  Col.  Mason 
rejoiced  with  him.  In  a  few  days  came  word 
from  Barker:  "Your  appointment  was  sent  in 
to-day.  I'll  rush  it  through  on  the  other  side. 
Come  up  to-morrow  afternoon." 

Cornelius  and  Mr,  Toliver  hugged  each  other. 

"It  came  just  in  time,"  said  the  younger  man; 
"the  last  of  my  money  was  about  gone,  and  I 
should  have  had  to  begin  paying  off  that  mort 
gage  with  no  prospect  of  ever  doing  it." 

The  two  had  suffered  together,  and  it  was  fit 
ting  that  they  should  be  together  to  receive  the 
news  of  the  long-desired  happiness;  so  arm  in 


226          MR.  CORNELIUS  JOHNSON 

arm  they  sauntered  down  to  the  Congressman's 
office  about  five  o'clock  the  next  afternoon.  In 
honor  of  the  occasion,  Mr.  Johnson  had  spent  his 
last  dollar  in  redeeming  the  grey  Prince  Albert 
and  the  shiny  hat.  A  smile  flashed  across 
Barker's  face  as  he  noted  the  change. 

"Well,  Cornelius,"  he  said,  ''I'm  glad  to  see 
you  still  prosperous-looking,  for  there  were  some 
alleged  irregularities  in  your  methods  down  in 
Alabama,  and  the  Senate  has  refused  to  confirm 
you.  I  did  all  I  could  for  you,  but " 

The  rest  of  the  sentence  was  lost,  as  Col. 
Mason's  arms  received  his  friend's  fainting  form. 

"Poor  devil!"  said  the  Congressman.  "I 
should  have  broken  it  more  gently." 

Somehow  Col.  Mason  got  him  home  and  to 
bed,  where  for  nine  weeks  he  lay  wasting  under 
a  complete  nervous  give-down.  The  little  wife 
and  the  children  came  up  to  nurse  him,  and  the 
woman's  ready  industry  helped  him  to  such 
creature  comforts  as  his  sickness  demanded. 
Never  once  did  she  murmur;  never  once  did  her 
faith  in  him  waver.  And  when  he  was  well 
enough  to  be  moved  back,  it  was  money  that 
she  had  earned,  increased  by  what  Col.  Mason, 
in  his  generosity  of  spirit,  took  from  his  own 


MR.  CORNELIUS  JOHNSON          227 

narrow  means,  that  paid  their  second-class  fare 
back  to  the  South. 

During  the  fever-fits  of  his  illness,  the  wasted 
politician  first  begged  piteously  that  they  would 
not  send  him  home  unplaced,  and  then  he  would 
break  out  in  the  most  extravagant  and  pompous 
boasts  about  his  position,  his  Congressman  and 
his  influence.  When  he  came  to  himself,  he  was 
silent,  morose,  and  bitter.  Only  once  did  he 
melt.  It  was  when  he  held  Col.  Mason's  hand 
and  bade  him  good-bye.  Then  the  tears  came 
into  his  eyes,  and  what  he  would  have  said  was 
lost  among  his  broken  words. 

As  he  stood  upon  the  platform  of  the  car  as  it 
moved  out,  and  gazed  at  the  white  dome  and 
feathery  spires  of  the  city,  growing  into  grey 
indefiniteness,  he  ground  his  teeth,  and  raising 
his  spent  hand,  shook  it  at  the  receding  view. 
"Damn  you!  damn  you!"  he  cried.  "Damn 
your  deceit,  your  fair  cruelties;  damn  you,  you 
hard,  white  liar!" 


AN  OLD-TIME 
CHRISTMAS 


229 


AN  OLD-TIME  CHRISTMAS 

WHEN  the  holidays  came  round  the  thoughts 
of  'Liza  Ann  Lewis  always  turned  to  the  good 
times  that  she  used  to  have  at  home  when,  fol 
lowing  the  precedent  of  anti-bellum  days,  Christ 
mas  lasted  all  the  week  and  good  cheer  held 
sway.  She  remembered  with  regret  the  gifts 
that  were  given,  the  songs  that  were  sung  to  the 
tinkling  of  the  banjo  and  the  dances  with  which 
they  beguiled  the  night  hours.  And  the  eating! 
Could  she  forget  it  ?  The  great  turkey,  with  the 
fat  literally  bursting  from  him ;  the  yellow  yam 
melting  into  deliciousness  in  the  mouth;  or  in 
some  more  fortunate  season,  even  the  juicy  'pos 
sum  grinning  in  brown  and  greasy  death  from 
the  great  platter. 

In  the  ten  years  she  had  lived  in  New  York, 
she  had  known  no  such  feast-day.  Food  was 
strangely  dear  in  the  Metropolis,  and  then  there 
was  always  the  weekly  rental  of  the  poor  room 
to  be  paid.  But  she  had  kept  the  memory  of  the 

old  times  green  in  her  heart,  and  ever  turned  to 
231 


232  AN  OLD-TIME  CHRISTMAS 

it  with  the  fondness  of  one  for  something  irre 
trievably  lost. 

That  is  how  Jimmy  came  to  know  about  it. 
Jimmy  was  thirteen  and  small  for  his  age,  and  he 
could  not  remember  any  such  times  as  his  mother 
told  him  about.  Although  he  said  with  great 
pride  to  his  partner  and  rival,  Blinky  Scott, 
"Ghee,  Blink,  you  ought  to  hear  my  ol'  lady  talk 
about  de  times  dey  have  down  w'ere  we  come 
from  at  Christmas;  N'Yoick  ain't  in  it  wid  dem, 
you  kin  jist  bet."  And  Blinky,  who  was  a  New 
Yorker  clear  through  with  a  New  Yorker's  con 
tempt  for  anything  outside  of  the  city,  had 
promptly  replied  with  a  downward  spreading  of 
his  right  hand,  "Aw  fu'git  it! " 

Jimmy  felt  a  little  crest-fallen  for  a  minute, 
but  he  lifted  himself  in  his  own  estimation  by 
threatening  to  "do"  Blinky  and  the  cloud  rolled 
by. 

'Liza  Ann  knew  that  Jimmy  couldn't  ever  un 
derstand  what  she  meant  by  an  old-time  Christ 
mas  unless  she  could  show  him  by  some  faint 
approach  to  its  merrymaking,  and  it  had  been 
the  dream  of  her  life  to  do  this.  But  every  year 
she  had  failed,  until  now  she  was  a  little  ahead. 

Her  plan  was  too  good  to  keep,  and  when 


AN  OLD-TIME  CHRISTMAS  233 

Jimmy  went  out  that  Christmas  eve  morning  to 
sell  his  papers,  she  had  disclosed  it  to  him  and 
bade  him  hurry  home  as  soon  as  he  was  done, 
for  they  were  to  have  a  real  old-time  Christmas. 

Jimmy  exhibited  as  much  pleasure  as  he 
deemed  consistent  with  his  dignity  and  promised 
to  be  back  early  to  add  his  earnings  to  the  fund 
for  celebration. 

When  he  was  gone,  'Liza  Ann  counted  over 
her  savings  lovingly  and  dreamed  of  what  she 
would  buy  her  boy,  and  what  she  would  have 
for  dinner  on  the  next  day.  Then  a  voice,  a  col 
ored  man's  voice,  she  knew,  floated  up  to  her. 
Some  one  in  the  alley  below  her  window  was 
singing  "The  Old  Folks  at  Home." 

"  All  up  an'  down  the  whole  creation, 

Sadly  I  roam, 

Still  longing  for  the  old  plantation, 
An'  for  the  old  folks  at  home." 

She  leaned  out  of  the  window  and  listened  and 
when  the  song  had  ceased  and  she  drew  her 
head  in  again,  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes — the 
tears  of  memory  and  longing.  But  she  crushed 
them  away,  and  laughed  tremulously  to  herself 
as  she  said,  "  What  a  reg'lar  ol'  fool  I'm  a-gittin' 
to  be."  Then  she  went  out  into  the  cold,  snow- 


234  AN  OLD-TIME  CHRISTMAS 

covered  streets,  for  she  had  work  to  do  that  day 
that  would  add  a  mite  to  her  little  Christmas 
store. 

Down  in  the  street,  Jimmy  was  calling  out  the 
morning  papers  and  racing  with  Blinky  Scott  for 
prospective  customers;  these  were  only  tran 
sients,  of  course,  for  each  had  his  regular  buyers 
whose  preferences  were  scrupulously  respected 
by  both  in  agreement  with  a  strange  silent  com 
pact. 

The  electric  cars  went  clanging  to  and  fro,  the 
streets  were  full  of  shoppers  with  bundles  and 
bunches  of  holly,  and  all  the  sights  and  sounds 
were  pregnant  with  the  message  of  the  joyous 
time.  People  were  full  of  the  holiday  spirit. 
The  papers  were  going  fast,  and  the  little  col 
ored  boy's  pockets  were  filling  with  the  desired 
coins.  It  would  have  been  all  right  with  Jimmy 
if  the  policeman  hadn't  come  up  on  him  just  as 
he  was  about  to  toss  the  "bones,"  and  when 
Blinky  Scott  had  him  " faded"  to  the  amount  of 
five  hard-earned  pennies. 

Well,  they  were  trying  to  suppress  youthful 
gambling  in  New  York,  and  the  officer  had  to  do 
his  duty.  The  others  scuttled  away,  but  Jimmy 
was  so  absorbed  in  the  game  that  he  didn't  see 


AN  OLD-TIME  CHRISTMAS  235 

the  "cop"  until  he  was  right  on  him,  so  he  was 
"  pinched."  He  blubbered  a  little  and  wiped  his 
grimy  face  with  his  grimier  sleeve  until  it  was 
one  long,  brown  smear.  You  know  this  was 
Jimmy's  first  time. 

The  big  blue-coat  looked  a  little  bit  ashamed 
as  he  marched  him  down  the  street,  followed  at 
a  distance  by  a  few  hooting  boys.  Some  of  the 
holiday  shoppers  turned  to  look  at  them  as  they 
passed  and  murmured,  "  Poor  little  chap;  I  won 
der  what  he's  been  up  to  now."  Others  said 
sarcastically,  "It  seems  strange  that  'copper' 
didn't  call  for  help."  A  few  of  his  brother 
officers  grinned  at  him  as  he  passed,  and  he 
blushed,  but  the  dignity  of  the  law  must  be  up 
held  and  the  crime  of  gambling  among  the  news 
boys  was  a  growing  evil. 

Yes,  the  dignity  of  the  law  must  be  upheld, 
and  though  Jimmy  was  only  a  small  boy,  it 
would  be  well  to  make  an  example  of  him.  So 
his  name  and  age  were  put  down  on  the  blotter, 
and  over  against  them  the  offence  with  which  he 
was  charged.  Then  he  was  locked  up  to  await 
trial  the  next  morning. 

"It's  shameful,"  the  bearded  sergeant  said, 
"  how  the  kids  are  carryin'  on  these  days.  Peo- 


236  AN  OLD-TIME  CHRISTMAS 

pie  are  feelin'  pretty  generous,  an'  they'll  toss 
'em  a  nickel  er  a  dime  fur  their  paper  an'  tell  'em 
to  keep  the  change  fur  Christmas,  an'  foist  thing 
you  know  the  little  beggars  are  shootin'  craps  er 
pitchin'  pennies.  We've  got  to  make  an  exam 
ple  of  some  of  'em." 

'Liza  Ann  Lewis  was  tearing  through  her  work 
that  day  to  get  home  and  do  her  Christmas 
shopping,  and  she  was  singing  as  she  worked 
some  such  old  song  as  she  used  to  sing  in  the 
good  old  days  back  home.  She  reached  her 
room  late  and  tired,  but  happy.  Visions  of  a 
"wakening  up"  time  for  her  and  Jimmy  were 
in  her  mind.  But  Jimmy  wasn't  there. 

"  I  wunner  whah  that  little  scamp  is,"  she  said, 
smiling;  "I  tol'  him  to  hu'y  home,  but  I  reckon 
he's  stayin'  out  latah  wid  de  evenin'  papahs  so's 
to  bring  home  mo'  money." 

Hour  after  hour  passed  and  he  did  not  come; 
then  she  grew  alarmed.  At  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning  she  could  stand  it  no  longer  and  she 
went  over  and  awakened  Blinky  Scott,  much  to 
that  young  gentleman's  disgust,  who  couldn't 
see  why  any  woman  need  make  such  a  fuss 
about  a  kid.  He  told  her  laconically  that 
"Chimmie  was  pinched  fur  t'rowin'  de  bones." 


AN  OLD-TIME  CHRISTMAS  237 

She  heard  with  a  sinking  heart  and  went  home 
to  her  own  room  to  walk  the  floor  all  night  and 
sob. 

In  the  morning,  with  all  her  Christmas  savings 
tied  up  in  a  handkerchief,  she  hurried  down  to 
Jefferson  Market  court  room.  There  was  a  full 
blotter  that  morning,  and  the  Judge  was  rushing 
through  with  it.  He  wanted  to  get  home  to  his 
Christmas  dinner.  But  he  paused  long  enough 
when  he  got  to  Jimmy's  case  to  deliver  a  brief 
but  stern  lecture  upon  the  evil  of  child-gambling 
in  New  York.  He  said  that  as  it  was  Christmas 
Day  he  would  like  to  release  the  prisoner  with  a 
reprimand,  but  he  thought  that  this  had  been 
done  too  often  and  that  it  was  high  time  to  make 
an  example  of  one  of  the  offenders. 

Well,  it  was  fine  or  imprisonment.  'Liza  Ann 
struggled  up  through  the  crowd  of  spectators 
and  her  Christmas  treasure  added  to  what 
Jimmy  had,  paid  his  fine  and  they  went  out  of 
the  court  room  together. 

When  they  were  in  their  room  again  she  put 
the  boy  to  bed,  for  there  was  no  fire  and  no  coal 
to  make  one.  Then  she  wrapped  herself  in  a 
shabby  shawl  and  sat  huddled  up  over  the  empty 
stove. 


238          AN  OLD-TIME  CHRISTMAS 

Down  in  the  alley  she  heard  the  voice  of  the 
day  before  singing: 

"  Oh,  darkies,  how  my  heart  grows  weary, 
Far  from  the  old  folks  at  home." 

And  she  burst  into  tears. 


A  MESS  OF 
POTTAGE 


239 


A  MESS  OF  POTTAGE 

IT  was  because  the  Democratic  candidate  for 
Governor  was  such  an  energetic  man  that  he  had 
been  able  to  stir  Little  Africa,  which  was  a  Re 
publican  stronghold,  from  centre  to  circumfer 
ence.  He  was  a  man  who  believed  in  carrying 
the  war  into  the  enemy's  country.  Instead  of 
giving  them  a  chance  to  attack  him,  he  went 
directly  into  their  camp,  leaving  discontent  and 
disaffection  among  their  allies.  He  believed  in 
his  principles.  He  had  faith  in  his  policy  for  the 
government  of  the  State,  and,  more  than  all,  he 
had  a  convincing  way  of  making  others  see  as  he 
saw. 

No  other  Democrat  had  ever  thought  it  neces 
sary  to  assail  the  stronghold  of  Little  Africa.  He 
had  merely  put  it  into  his  forecast  as  "solidly 
against,"  sent  a  little  money  to  be  distributed 
desultorily  in  the  district,  and  then  left  it  to  go 
its  way,  never  doubting  what  that  way  would 
be.  The  opposing  candidates  never  felt  that  the 
place  was  worthy  of  consideration,  for  as  the 

Chairman  of  the  Central  Committee  said,  holding 
241 


242  A  MESS  OF  POTTAGE 

up  his  hand  with  the  fingers  close  together  : 
"  What's  the  use  of  wasting  any  speakers  down 
there  ?  We've  got  'em  just  like  that." 

It  was  all  very  different  with  Mr.  Lane. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said  to  the  campaign  man 
agers,  "that  black  district  must  not  be  ignored. 
Those  people  go  one  way  because  they  are  never 
invited  to  go  another." 

"Oh,  I  tell  you  now,  Lane,"  said  his  closest 
friend,  "  it'll  be  a  waste  of  material  to  send  any 
body  down  there.  They  simply  go  like  a  flock 
of  sheep,  and  nothing  is  going  to  turn  them." 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  bellwether?" 
said  Lane  sententiously. 

"  That's  just  exactly  what  /sthe  matter.  Their 
bellwether  is  an  old  deacon  named  Isham  Swift, 
and  you  couldn't  turn  him  with  a  forty-horse 
power  crank." 

"There's  nothing  like  trying." 

"There  are  many  things  very  similar  to  failing, 
but  none  so  bad." 

"I'm  willing  to  take  the  risk." 

"Well,  all  right;  but  whom  will  you  send? 
We  can't  waste  a  good  man." 

"I'll  go  myself." 

"What,  you?" 


A  MESS  OF  POTTAGE  243 

"Yes,  I." 

"Why,  you'd  be  the  laughing-stock  of  the 
State." 

"All  right ;  put  me  down  for  that  office  if  I 
never  reach  the  gubernatorial  chair." 

"  Say,  Lane,  what  was  the  name  of  that  Span 
ish  fellow  who  went  out  to  fight  windmills, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing  ?  " 

"  Never  mind,  Widner  ;  you  may  be  a  good 
political  hustler,  but  you're  dead  bad  on  your 
classics,"  said  Lane  laughingly. 

So  they  put  him  down  for  a  speech  in  Little 
Africa,  because  he  himself  desired  it. 

Widner  had  not  lied  to  him  about  Deacon 
Swift,  as  he  found  when  he  tried  to  get  the  old 
man  to  preside  at  the  meeting.  The  Deacon  re 
fused  with  indignation  at  the  very  idea.  But 
others  were  more  acquiescent,  and  Mount  Moriah 
church  was  hired  at  a  rental  that  made  the  Rev. 
Ebenezer  Clay  and  all  his  Trustees  rub  their  hands 
with  glee  and  think  well  of  the  candidate.  Also 
they  looked  at  their  shiny  coats  and  thought  of 
new  suits. 

There  was  much  indignation  expressed  that 
Mount  Moriah  should  have  lent  herself  to  such 
a  cause,  and  there  were  murmurs  even  among 


244  A  MESS  OF  POTTAGE 

the  congregation  where  the  Rev.  Ebenezer  Clay 
was  usually  an  unquestioned  autocrat.  But,  be 
cause  Eve  was  the  mother  of  all  of  us  and  the 
thing  was  so  new,  there  was  a  great  crowd  on  the 
night  of  the  meeting.  The  Rev.  Ebenezer  Clay 
presided.  Lane  had  said,  "  If  I  can't  get  the  bell 
wether  to  jump  the  way  I  want,  I'll  transfer  the 
bell."  This  he  had  tried  to  do.  The  effort  was 
very  like  him. 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Clay,  looking  down  into  more 
frowning  faces  than  he  cared  to  see,  spoke  more 
boldly  than  he  felt.  He  told  his  people  that 
though  they  had  their  own  opinions  and  ideas,  it 
was  well  to  hear  both  sides.  He  said,  "The 
brothah,"  meaning  the  candidate,  "had  a  few 
thoughts  to  pussent,"  and  he  hoped  they'd  listen 
to  him  quietly.  Then  he  added  subtly  :  "Of 
co'se  Brothah  Lane  knows  we  colo'ed  folks  're 
goin'  to  think  our  own  way,  anyhow." 

The  people  laughed  and  applauded,  and  Lane 
went  to  his  work.  They  were  quiet  and  atten 
tive.  Every  now  and  then  some  old  brother 
grunted  and  shook  his  head.  But  in  the  main 
they  merely  listened. 

Lane  was  pleasing,  plausible  and  convincing, 
and  the  brass  band  which  he  had  brought  with 


A  MESS  OF  POTTAGE  245 

him  was  especially  effective.  The  audience  left 
the  church  shaking  their  heads  with  a  different 
meaning,  and  all  the  way  home  there  were  re 
marks  such  as,  "He  sholy  tol'  de  truth,"  "  Dat 
man  was  right,"  "They  ain't  no  way  to  'ny  a 
word  he  said." 

Just  at  that  particular  moment  it  looked  very 
dark  for  the  other  candidate,  especially  as  the 
brass  band  lingered  around  an  hour  or  so  and 
discoursed  sweet  music  in  the  streets  where  the 
negroes  most  did  congregate. 

Twenty  years  ago  such  a  thing  could  not  have 
happened,  but  the  ties  which  had  bound  the 
older  generation  irrevocably  to  one  party  were 
being  loosed  upon  the  younger  men.  The  old 
men  said  "We  know; "  the  young  ones  said  "We 
have  heard,"  and  so  there  was  hardly  anything 
of  the  blind  allegiance  which  had  made  even  free 
thought  seem  treason  to  their  fathers. 

Now  all  of  this  was  the  reason  of  the  great  in 
dignation  that  was  rife  in  the  breasts  of  other 
Little  Africans  and  which  culminated  in  a  mass 
meeting  called  by  Deacon  Isham  Swift  and  held 
at  Bethel  Chapel  a  few  nights  later.  For  two  or 
three  days  before  this  congregation  of  the  oppos 
ing  elements  there  were  ominous  mutterings. 


246  A  MESS  OF  POTTAGE 

On  the  streets  little  knots  of  negroes  stood  and 
told  of  the  terrible  thing  that  had  taken  place  at 
Mount  Moriah.  Shoulders  were  grasped,  heads 
were  wagged  and  awful  things  prophesied  as 
the  result  of  this  compromise  with  the  general 
enemy.  No  one  was  louder  in  his  denunciation 
of  the  treacherous  course  of  the  Rev.  Ebenezer 
Clay  than  the  Republican  bellwether,  Deacon 
Swift.  He  saw  in  it  signs  of  the  break-up  of 
racial  integrity  and  he  bemoaned  the  tendency 
loud  and  long.  His  son  Tom  did  not  tell  him 
that  he  had  gone  to  the  meeting  himself  and  had 
been  one  of  those  to  come  out  shaking  his  head 
in  acquiescent  doubt  at  the  truths  he  had  heard. 
But  he  went,  as  in  duty  bound,  to  his  father's 
meeting. 

The  church  was  one  thronging  mass  of  colored 
citizens.  On  the  platform,  from  which  the  pul 
pit  had  been  removed,  sat  Deacon  Swift  and  his 
followers.  On  each  side  of  him  were  banners 
bearing  glowing  inscriptions.  One  of  the  ban 
ners  which  the  schoolmistress  had  prepared  read: 

"  His  temples  are  our  forts  and  towers  which  frown  upon  a 
tyrant  foe." 

The  schoolmistress  taught  in  a  mixed  school. 


A  MESS  OF  POTTAGE  247 

They  had  mixed  it  by  giving  her  a  room  in  a 
white  school  where  she  had  only  colored  pupils. 
Therefore  she  was  loyal  to  her  party,  and  was 
known  as  a  woman  of  public  spirit. 

The  meeting  was  an  enthusiastic  one,  but  no 
such  demonstration  was  shown  through  it  all  as 
when  old  Deacon  Swift  himself  arose  to  address 
the  assembly.  He  put  Moses  Jackson  in  the 
chair,  and  then  as  he  walked  forward  to  the  front 
of  the  platform  a  great,  white-haired,  rugged, 
black  figure,  he  was  heroic  in  his  very  crudeness. 
He  wore  a  long,  old  Prince  Albert  coat,  which 
swept  carelessly  about  his  thin  legs.  His  turn 
down  collar  was  disputing  territory  with  his  tie 
and  his  waistcoat.  His  head  was  down,  and  he 
glanced  out  of  the  lower  part  of  his  eyes  over  the 
congregation,  while  his  hands  fumbled  at  the 
sides  of  his  trousers  in  an  embarrassment  which 
may  have  been  pretended  or  otherwise. 

"Mistah  Cheerman,"  he  said,  "fu'  myse'f,  I 
ain't  no  speakah.  I  ain't  nevah  been  riz  up  dat 
way.  I  has  plowed  an'  I  has  sowed,  an'  latah  on 
I  has  laid  cyahpets,  an'  I  has  whitewashed.  But, 
ladies  an'  gent'men,  I  is  a  man,  an'  as  a  man  I 
want  to  speak  to  you  ter-night.  We  is  lak  a  flock 


248  A  MESS  OF  POTTAGE 

o'  sheep,  an'  in  de  las'  week  de  wolf  has  come 
among  ouah  midst.  On  evah  side  we  has  hyeahd 
de  shephe'd  dogs  a-ba'kin'  a-wa'nin'  unto  us. 
But,  my  fen's,  de  cotton  o'  p'ospe'ity  has  been 
stuck  in  ouah  eahs.  Fu'  thirty  yeahs  er  mo',  ef  I 
do  not  disremember,  we  has  walked  de  streets 
an'  de  by-ways  o'  dis  country  an'  called  ouah- 
se'ves  f  eemen.  Away  back  yander,  in  de  days 
of  old,  lak  de  chillen  of  Is'ul  in  Egypt,  a  deliv'ah 
came  unto  us,  an  Ab'aham  Lincoln  a-lifted  de 
yoke  f'om  ouah  shouldahs."  The  audience 
waked  up  and  began  swaying,  and  there  was 
moaning  heard  from  both  Amen  corners. 

"But,  my  fen's,  I  want  to  ax  you,  who  was 
behind  Ab'aham  Lincoln  ?  Who  was  it  helt  up 
dat  man's  han's  when  dey  sent  bayonets  an' 
buttons  to  enfo'ce  his  word — umph  ?  I  want  to 
—to  know  who  was  behin'  him  ?  Wasn'  it  de 
'Publican  pa'ty?"  There  were  cries  of  "Yes, 
yes!  dat'sso!"  One  old  sister  rose  and  waved 
her  sunbonnet. 

"  An'  now  I  want  to  know  in  dis  hyeah  day  o' 
comin'  up  ef  we  a-gwineter  'sert  de  ol'  flag  which 
waved  ovah  Lincoln,  waved  ovah  Gin'r'l  Butler, 
an'  led  us  up  straight  to  feedom  ?  Ladies  an' 
gent'men,  an'  my  fen's,  I  know  dar  have  been 


A  MESS  OF  POTTAGE  249 

suttain  meetin's  held  lately  in  dis  pa't  o'  de  town. 
I  know  dar  have  been  suttain  cannerdates  which 
have  come  down  hyeah  an'  brung  us  de  mixed 
wine  o'  Babylon.  I  know  dar  have  been  dem  o' 
ouah  own  people  who  have  drunk  an'  become 
drunk — ah!  But  I  want  to  know,  an'  I  want  to 
ax  you  ter-night  as  my  fen's  an'  my  brothahs,  is 
we  all  a-gwineter  do  it— huh  ?  Is  we  all 
a-gwineter  drink  o'  dat  wine  ?  Is  we  all 
a-gwineter  reel  down  de  perlitical  street,  a-stag- 
gerin'  to  an'  fro  ? — hum!  " 

Cries  of  "No!  No!  No!"  shook  the  whole 
church. 

"Gent'men  an'  ladies,"  said  the  old  man,  low 
ering  his  voice,  <vde  pa'able  has  been  'peated,  an' 
some  o'  us — I  ain't  mentionin'  no  names,  an'  I 
ain't  a-blamin'  no  chu'ch — but  I  say  dar  is  some 
o'  us  dat  has  sol'  dere  buthrights  fu'  a  pot  o'  cab 
bage." 

What  more  Deacon  Swift  said  is  hardly  worth 
the  telling,  for  the  whole  church  was  in  confusion 
and  little  more  was  heard.  But  he  carried  every 
thing  with  him,  and  Lane's  work  seemed  all  un 
done.  On  a  back  seat  of  the  church  Tom  Swift, 
the  son  of  the  presiding  officer,  sat  and  smiled  at 
his  father  unmoved,  because  he  had  gone  as  far 


250  A  MESS  OF  POTTAGE 

as  the  sixth  grade  in  school,  and  thought  he 
knew  more. 

As  the  reporters  say,  the  meeting  came  to  a 
close  amid  great  enthusiasm. 

The  day  of  election  came  and  Little  Africa 
gathered  as  usual  about  the  polls  in  the  precinct. 
The  Republicans  followed  their  plan  of  not  both 
ering  about  the  district.  They  had  heard  of  the 
Deacon's  meeting,  and  chuckled  to  themselves  in 
their  committee-room.  Little  Africa  was  all 
solid,  as  usual,  but  Lane  was  not  done  yet.  His 
emissaries  were  about,  as  thick  as  insurance 
agents,  and  they,  as  well  as  the  Republican 
workers,  had  money  to  spare  and  to  spend. 
Some  votes,  which  counted  only  for  numbers, 
were  fifty  cents  apiece,  but  when  Tom  Swift 
came  down  they  knew  who  he  was  and  what 
his  influence  could  do.  They  gave  him  five  dol 
lars,  and  Lane  had  one  more  vote  and  a  deal  of 
prestige.  The  young  man  thought  he  was  vot 
ing  for  his  convictions. 

He  had  just  cast  his  ballot,  and  the  crowd  was 
murmuring  around  him  still  at  the  wonder  of  it 
— for  the  Australian  ballot  has  tongues  as  well  as 
ears— when  his  father  came  up,  with  two  or 
three  of  his  old  friends,  each  with  the  old  ticket 


A  MESS  OF  POTTAGE  251 

in  his  hands.  He  heard  the  rumor  and  laughed. 
Then  he  came  up  to  Tom. 

"  Huh,"  he  said,  "  dey  been  sayin'  'roun'  hyeah 
you  voted  de  Democratic  ticket.  Go  mek  'em 
out  a  lie." 

"I  did  vote  the  Democratic  ticket,"  said  Tom 
steadily. 

The  old  man  fell  back  a  step  and  gasped,  as  if 
he  had  been  struck. 

"You  did ? "  he  cried.     "  You  did ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom,  visibly  shaken;  "every  man 
has  a  right ' 

"Evah  man  has  a  right  to  what?"  cried  the 
old  man. 

"To  vote  as  he  thinks  he  ought  to,"  was  his 
son's  reply. 

Deacon  Swift's  eyes  were  bulging  and  redden 
ing. 

"  You— you  tell  medat?"  His  slender  form 
towered  above  his  son's,  and  his  knotted,  toil- 
hardened  hands  opened  and  closed. 

"You  tell  me  dat  ?  You  with  yo'  bringin' 
up  vote  de  way  you  think  you're  right  ?  You 
lie!  Tell  me  what  dey  paid  you,  or,  befo'  de 
Lawd,  I'll  taih  you  to  pieces  right  hyeah! " 

Tom    wavered.      He  was    weaker   than    his 


252  A  MESS  OF  POTTAGE 

father.  He  had  not  gone  through  the  same 
things,  and  was  not  made  of  the  same  stuff. 

"They — they  give  me  five  dollahs,"  he  said; 
"but  it  wa'n't  fu'  votin'." 

"Fi'  dollahs!  fi'  dollahs!  My  son  sell  hisse'f 
fu'  fi'  dollahs !  an'  forty  yeahs  ago  I  brung  fifteen 
hun'erd,  an'  dat  was  only  my  body,  but  you  sell 
body  an'  soul  fu'  fi'  dollahs!" 

Horror  and  scorn  and  grief  and  anger  were  in 
the  old  man's  tone.  Tears  trickled  down  his 
wrinkled  face,  but  there  was  no  weakness  in  the 
grip  with  which  he  took  hold  of  his  son's 
arms. 

"Tek  it  back  to  'em!"  he  said.  "Tek  it  back 
to  'em." 

"But,  pap " 

"Tek  it  back  to  'em,  I  say,  or  yo'  blood  be 
on  yo'  own  haid!" 

And  then,  shamefaced  before  the  crowd,  driven 
by  his  father's  anger,  he  went  back  to  the  man 
who  had  paid  him  and  yielded  up  the  precious 
bank-note.  Then  they  turned,  the  one  head-hung, 
the  other  proud  in  his  very  indignation,  and 
made  their  way  homeward. 

There  was  prayer-meeting  the  next  Wednes 
day  night  at  Bethel  Chapel.  It  was  nearly  over 


A  MESS  OF  POTTAGE  253 

and  the  minister  was  about  to  announce  the 
Doxology,  when  old  Deacon  Swift  arose. 

"Des'  a  minute,  brothahs,"  he  said.  "I  want 
to  mek  a  'fession.  I  was  too  ha'd  an'  too  brash 
in  my  talk  de  othah  night,  an'  de  Lawd  visited 
my  sins  upon  my  haid.  He  struck  me  in  de 
bosom  o'  my  own  fambly.  My  own  son  went 
wrong.  Pray  fu'  me!" 


THE  TRUSTFULNESS 
OF  POLLY 


255 


THE  TRUSTFULNESS  OF  POLLY 

Polly  Jackson  was  a  model  woman.  She  was 
practical  and  hard-working.  She  knew  the  value 
of  a  dollar,  could  make  one  and  keep  one,  some 
times—fate  permitting.  Fate  was  usually  Sam 
and  Sam  was  Polly's  husband.  Any  morning 
at  six  o'clock  she  might  be  seen,  basket  on  arm, 
wending  her  way  to  the  homes  of  her  wealthy 
patrons  for  the  purpose  of  bringing  in  their 
washing,  for  by  this  means  did  she  gain  her 
livelihood.  She  had  been  a  person  of  hard  com 
mon  sense,  which  suffered  its  greatest  lapse 
when  she  allied  herself  with  the  man  whose 
name  she  bore.  After  that  the  lapses  were  more 
frequent. 

How  she  could  ever  have  done  so  no  one  on 
earth  could  tell.  Sam  was  her  exact  opposite. 
He  was  an  easy-going,  happy-go-lucky  individ 
ual,  who  worked  only  when  occasion  demanded 
and  inclination  and  the  weather  permitted.  The 
weather  was  usually  more  acquiescent  than  incli 
nation.  He  was  sanguine  of  temperament, 
257 


258      THE  TRUSTFULNESS  OF  POLLY 

highly  imaginative  and  a  dreamer  of  dreams. 
Indeed,  he  just  missed  being  a  poet.  A  man 
who  dreams  takes  either  to  poetry  or  policy. 
Not  being  able  quite  to  reach  the  former,  Sam 
had  declined  upon  the  latter,  and,  instead  of 
meter,  feet  and  rhyme,  his  mind  was  taken  up 
with  "hosses,"  "gigs"  and  "straddles." 

He  was  always  "jes'  behin'  dem  policy  sha'ks, 
an'  I'll  be  boun',  Polly,  but  I  gwine  to  ketch  'em 
dis  time." 

Polly  heard  this  and  saw  the  same  result  so 
often  that  even  her  stalwart  faith  began  to  turn 
into  doubt.  But  Sam  continued  to  reassure  her 
and  promise  that  some  day  luck  would  change. 
"An'  when  hit  do  change,"  he  would  add,  im 
pressively,  "  it's  gwine  change  fu'  sho',  an'  we'll 
have  one  wakenin'  up  time.  Den  I  bet  you'll  git 
dat  silk  dress  you  been  wantin'  so  long." 

Polly  did  have  ambitions  in  the  direction  of 
some  such  finery,  and  this  plea  always  melted 
her.  Trust  was  restored  again,  and  Hope  re 
sumed  her  accustomed  place. 

It  was,  however,  not  through  the  successful 
culmination  of  any  of  Sam's  policy  manipulations 
that  the  opportunity  at  last  came  to  Polly  to  real 
ize  her  ambitions.  A  lady  for  whom  she  worked 


THE  TRUSTFULNESS  OF  POLLY      259 

had  a  second-hand  silk  dress,  which  she  was 
willing  to  sell  cheap.  Another  woman  had 
spoken  for  it,  but  if  Polly  could  get  the  money 
in  three  weeks  she  would  let  her  have  it  for  seven 
dollars. 

To  say  that  the  companion  of  Sam  Jackson 
jumped  at  the  offer  hardly  indicates  the  attitude 
of  eagerness  with  which  she  received  the  propo 
sition. 

"Yas'm,  I  kin  sholy  git  dat  much  money  to 
gether  in  th'ee  weeks  de  way  1's  a-wo'kin'." 

"  Well,  now,  Polly,  be  sure;  for  if  you  are  not 
prompt  I  shall  have  to  dispose  of  it  where  it  was 
first  promised,"  was  the  admonition. 

"Oh,  you  kin  'pend  on  me,  Mis'  Mo'ton;  fu' 
when  I  sets  out  to  save  money  I  kin  save,  I  tell 
you."  Polly  was  not  usually  so  sanguine,  but 
what  changes  will  not  the  notion  of  the  posses 
sion  of  a  brown  silk  dress  trimmed  with  passe- 
mentrie  make  in  the  disposition  of  a  woman  ? 

Polly  let  Sam  into  the  secret,  and,  be  it  said  to 
his  credit,  he  entered  into  the  plan  with  an  en 
thusiasm  no  less  intense  than  her  own.  He  had 
always  wanted  to  see  her  in  a  silk  dress,  he  told 
her,  and  then  in  a  quizzically  injured  tone  of 
voice,  "but  you  ought  to  waited  tell  I  ketched 


260      THE  TRUSTFULNESS  OF  POLLY 

dem  policy  sha'ks  an'  I'd  'a'  got  you  a  new  one." 
He  even  went  so  far  as  to  go  to  work  for  a  week 
and  bring  Polly  his  earnings,  of  course,  after  cer 
tain  "little  debts"  which  he  mentioned  but  did 
not  specify,  had  been  deducted. 

But  in  spite  of  all  this,  when  washing  isn't 
bringing  an  especially  good  price;  when  one  must 
eat  and  food  is  high;  when  a  grasping  landlord 
comes  around  once  every  week  and  exacts  tribute 
for  the  privilege  of  breathing  foul  air  from  an 
alley  in  a  room  up  four  flights;  when,  I  say,  all 
this  is  true,  and  it  generally  is  true  in  the  New 
York  tenderloin,  seven  whole  dollars  are  not 
easily  saved.  There  was  much  raking  and  scrap 
ing  and  pinching  during  each  day  that  at  night 
Polly  might  add  a  few  nickels  or  pennies  to 
the  store  that  jingled  in  a  blue  jug  in  one  cor 
ner  of  her  closet.  She  called  it  her  bank,  and 
Sam  had  laughed  at  the  conceit,  telling  her 
that  that  was  one  bank  anyhow  that  couldn't 
"bust." 

As  the  days  went  on  how  she  counted  her  sav 
ings  and  exulted  in  their  growth!  She  already 
saw  herself  decked  out  in  her  new  gown,  the 
envy  and  admiration  of  every  woman  in  the 
neighborhood.  She  even  began  to  wish  that  she 


THE  TRUSTFULNESS  OF  POLLY      261 

had  a  full-length  glass  in  order  that  she  might 
get  the  complete  effect  of  her  own  magnificence. 
So  saving,  hoping,  dreaming,  the  time  went  on 
until  a  few  days  before  the  limit,  and  there  was 
only  about  a  dollar  to  be  added  to  make  the  re 
quired  amount.  This  she  could  do  easily  in  the 
remaining  time.  So  Polly  was  jubilant. 

Now  everything  would  have  been  all  right  and 
matters  would  have  ended  happily  if  Sam  had 
only  kept  on  at  work.  But,  no.  He  must  needs 
stop,  and  give  his  mind  the  chance  to  be  em 
ployed  with  other  things.  And  that  is  just  what 
happened.  For  about  this  time,  having  nothing 
else  to  do,  like  that  old  king  of  Bible  renown,  he 
dreamed  a  dream.  But  unlike  the  royal  dreamer, 
he  asked  no  seer  or  prophet  to  interpret  his  dream 
to  him.  He  merely  drove  his  hand  down  into 
his  inside  pocket,  and  fished  up  an  ancient 
dream-book,  greasy  and  tattered  with  use.  Over 
this  he  pored  until  his  eyes  bulged  and  his  hands 
shook  with  excitement. 

"Got 'em  at  last!"  he  exclaimed.  "Dey  ain't 
no  way  fu'  dem  to  git  away  fom  me.  I's  behind 
'em.  I's  behind  'em  I  tell  you,"  and  then  his  face 
fell  and  he  sat  for  a  long  time  with  his  chin  in 
his  hand  thinking,  thinking. 


262      THE  TRUSTFULNESS  OF  POLLY 

"Polly,"  said  he  when  his  wife  came  in, 
"d'you  know  what  I  dremp  'bout  las'  night?" 

"  La!  Sam  Jackson,  you  ain't  gone  to  dreamin' 
agin.  1  thought  you  done  quit  all  dat  foolish 
ness." 

"Now  jes'  listen  at  you  runnin'  on.  You  ain't 
never  axed  me  what  I  dremp  'bout  yit." 

"Hit  don'  make  much  diffunce  to  me,  less  'n 
you  kin  dream  'bout  a  dollah  mo'  into  my 
pocket." 

"Dey  has  been  sich  things  did,"  said  Sam  sen- 
tentiously.  He  got  up  and  went  out.  If  there 
is  one  thing  above  another  that  your  professional 
dreamer  does  demand,  it  is  appreciation.  Sam 
had  failed  to  get  it  from  Polly,  but  he  found  a 
balm  for  all  his  hurts  when  he  met  Bob  Davis. 

"What!"  exclaimed  Bob.  "Dreamed  of  a 
nakid  black  man.  Fu'  de  Lawd  sake,  Sam,  don' 
let  de  chance  pass.  You  got  'em  dis  time  sho'. 
I'll  put  somep'n'  on  it  myse'f.  Wha'd  you  think 
ef  we'd  win  de  '  capital '  ?  " 

That  was  enough.  The  two  parted  and  Sam 
hurried  home.  He  crer^t  into  the  house.  Polly 
was  busy  hanging  clothes  on  the  roof.  Where 
now  are  the  guardian  spirits  that  look  after  the 
welfare  of  trusting  women  ?  Where  now  are  the 


THE  TRUSTFULNESS  OF  POLLY      263 

enchanted  belongings  that  even  in  the  hands  of 
the  thief  cry  out  to  their  unsuspecting  owners  ? 
Gone.  All  gone  with  the  ages  of  faith  that  gave 
them  birth.  Without  an  outcry,  without  even  so 
much  as  a  warning  jingle,  the  contents  of  the 
blue  jug  and  the  embodied  hope  of  a  woman's 
heart  were  transferred  to  the  gaping  pocket  of 
Sam  Jackson.  Polly  went  on  hanging  up  clothes 
on  the  roof. 

Sam  chuckled  to  himself:  "She  won't  never 
have  a  chanst  to  scol'  me.  I'll  git  de  drawin's 
early  dis  evenin',  an'  go  ma'chin'  home  wif  a  new 
silk  fu'  huh,  an'  money  besides.  I  do'  want  my 
wife  waihin'  no  white  folks'  secon'-han'  clothes 
nohow.  My,  but  won't  she  be  su'prised  an' 
tickled.  I  kin  jes'  see  huh  now.  Oh,  mistah 
policy-sha'k,  I  got  you  now.  I  been  layin'  fu'  you 
fu'  a  long  time,  but  you's  my  meat  at  las'." 

He  marcfied  into  the  policy  shop  like  a  con 
queror.  To  the  amazement  of  the  clerk,  he 
turned  out  a  pocketful  of  small  coin  on  the  table 
and  played  it  all  in  "gigs,"  " straddles  and  com 
binations." 

'Til  call  on  you  about  ha'  pas'  fou',  Mr.  Me- 
Fadden,"  he  announced  exultantly  as  he  went 
out. 


264      THE  TRUSTFULNESS  OF  POLLY 

"Faith,  sor,"  said  McFadden  to  his  colleague, 
"if  that  nagur  does  ketch  it  he'll  break  us,  sure." 

Sam  could  hardly  wait  for  half-past  four.  A 
minute  before  the  time  he  burst  in  upon  McFad 
den  and  demanded  the  drawings.  They  were 
handed  to  him.  He  held  his  breath  as  his  eye 
went  down  the  column  of  figures.  Then  he 
gasped  and  staggered  weakly  out  of  the  room. 
The  policy  sharks  had  triumphed  again. 

Sam  walked  the  streets  until  nine  o'clock  that 
night.  He  was  afraid  to  go  home  to  Polly.  He 

knew  that  she  had  been  to  the  jug  and  found . 

He  groaned,  but  at  last  his  very  helplessness 
drove  him  in.  Polly,  with  swollen  eyes,  was 
sitting  by  the  table,  the  empty  jug  lying  on  its 
side  before  her. 

"Sam,"  she  exclaimed,  "  whaih's  my  money  ? 
Whaih's  my  money  I  been  wo'kin'  fu'  all 
dis  time  ?" 

"Why— Why,  Polly - 

"Don'  go  beatin'  'roun'  de  bush.  I  want  'o 
know  whaih  my  money  is;  you  tuck  it." 

"Polly,  I  dremp " 

"I  do'  keer  what  you  dremp,  I  want  my 
money  fu'  my  dress." 

His  face  was  miserable. 


THE  TRUSTFULNESS  OF  POLLY      265 

"I  thought  sho'  dem  numbers  'u'd  come  out, 
an' " 

The  woman  flung  herself  upon  the  floor  and 
burst  into  a  storm  of  tears.  Sam  bent  over  her. 
"Nemmine,  Polly,"  he  said.  "Nemmine.  I 
thought  I'd  su'prise  you.  Dey  beat  me  dis  time." 
His  teeth  clenched.  "But  when  I  ketch  dem 
policy  sha'ks " 


THE  TRAGEDY 
AT  THREE  FORKS 


267 


THE  TRAGEDY  AT  THREE  FORKS 

IT  was  a  drizzly,  disagreeable  April  night. 
The  wind  was  howling  in  a  particularly  dismal 
and  malignant  way  along  the  valleys  and  hollows 
of  that  part  of  Central  Kentucky  in  which  the 
rural  settlement  of  Three  Forks  is  situated.  It 
had  been  "trying  to  rain"  all  day  in  a  half 
hearted  sort  of  manner,  and  now  the  drops  were 
flying  about  in  a  cold  spray.  The  night  was  one 
of  dense,  inky  blackness,  occasionally  relieved  by 
flashes  of  lightning.  It  was  hardly  a  night  on 
which  a  girl  should  be  out.  And  yet  one  was 
out,  scudding  before  the  storm,  with  clenched 
teeth  and  wild  eyes,  wrapped  head  and  shoulders 
in  a  great  blanket  shawl,  and  looking,  as  she 
sped  along  like  a  restless,  dark  ghost.  For  her, 
the  night  and  the  storm  had  no  terrors  ;  pas 
sion  had  driven  out  fear.  There  was  determina 
tion  in  her  every  movement,  and  purpose  was 
apparent  in  the  concentration  of  energy  with 
which  she  set  her  foot  down.  She  drew  the 

shawl  closer  about  her  head  with  a  convulsive 
269 


270  THE  TRAGEDY  AT  THREE  FORKS 

grip,  and  muttered  with  a  half  sob,  "  Tain't  the 
first  time,  'tain't  the  first  time  she's  tried  to  take 
me  down  in  comp'ny,  but—"  and  the  sob  gave 
way  to  the  dry,  sharp  note  in  her  voice,  "  I'll  fix 
her,  if  it  kills  me.  She  thinks  I  ain't  her  ekals, 
does  she  ?  'Cause  her  pap's  got  money,  an'  has 
good  crops  on  his  Ian',  an'  my  pap  ain't  never 
had  no  luck,  but  I'll  show  'er,  I'll  show  'er  that 
good  luck  can't  allus  last.  Pleg-take  'er,  she's 
jealous,  'cause  I'm  better  lookin'  than  she  is,  an' 
pearter  in  every  way,  so  she  tries  to  make  me 
little  in  the  eyes  of  people.  Well,  you'll  find  out 
what  it  is  to  be  pore— to  have  nothin',  Seliny 
Williams,  if  you  live." 

The  black  night  hid  a  gleam  in  the  girl's  eyes, 
and  her  shawl  hid  a  bundle  of  something  light, 
which  she  clutched  very  tightly,  and  which 
smelled  of  kerosene. 

The  dark  outline  of  a  house  and  its  outbuild 
ings  loomed  into  view  through  the  dense  gloom  ; 
and  the  increased  caution  with  which  the  girl 
proceeded,  together  with  the  sudden  breathless 
intentness  of  her  conduct,  indicated  that  it  was 
with  this  house  and  its  occupants  she  was  con 
cerned. 

The  house  was  cellarless,  but  it  was  raised  at 


THE  TRAGEDY  AT  THREE  FORKS  271 

the  four  corners  on  heavy  blocks,  leaving  a  space 
between  the  ground  and  the  floor,  the  sides  of 
which  were  partly  closed  by  banks  of  ashes  and 
earth  which  were  thrown  up  against  the  weather- 
boarding.  It  was  but  a  few  minutes'  work  to 
scrape  away  a  portion  of  this  earth,  and  push 
under  the  pack  of  shavings  into  which  the  mys 
terious  bundle  resolved  itself.  A  match  was 
lighted,  sheltered,  until  it  blazed,  and  then  dropped 
among  them.  It  took  only  a  short  walk  and  a 
shorter  time  to  drop  a  handful  of  burning  shavings 
into  the  hay  at  the  barn.  Then  the  girl  turned 
and  sped  away,  muttering:  "  I  reckon  I've  fixed 
you,  Seliny  Williams,  mebbe,  next  time  you 
meet  me  out  at  a  dance,  you  won't  snub  me  ; 
mebbe  next  time,  you'll  be  ez  pore  ez  I  am,  an'll 
be  willin'  to  dance  crost  from  even  ole  'Lias 
Hunster's  gal.  " 

The  constantly  falling  drizzle  might  have  dam 
pened  the  shavings  and  put  out  the  fire,  had  not 
the  wind  fanned  the  sparks  into  too  rapid  a  flame, 
which  caught  eagerly  at  shingle,  board  and  joist 
until  house  and  barn  were  wrapped  in  flames. 
The  whinnying  of  the  horses  first  woke  Isaac 
Williams,  and  he  sprang  from  bed  at  sight  of  the 
furious  light  which  surrounded  his  house.  He 


$12  THE  TRAGEDY  AT  THREE  FORKS 

got  his  family  up  and  out  of  the  house,  each  seiz 
ing  what  he  could  of  wearing  apparel  as  he  fled 
before  the  flames.  Nothing  else  could  be  saved, 
for  the  fire  had  gained  terrible  headway,  and  its 
fierceness  precluded  all  possibility  of  fighting  it. 
The  neighbors  atttacted  by  the  lurid  glare  came 
from  far  and  near,  but  the  fire  had  done  its  work, 
and  their  efforts  availed  nothing.  House,  barn, 
stock,  all,  were  a  mass  of  ashes  and  charred  cin 
ders.  Isaac  Williams,  who  had  a  day  before, 
been  accounted  one  of  the  solidest  farmers  in  the 
region,  went  out  that  night  with  his  family — 
homeless. 

Kindly  neighbors  took  them  in,  and  by  morn 
ing  the  news  had  spread  throughout  all  the  coun 
try-side.  Incendiarism  was  the  only  cause  that 
could  be  assigned,  and  many  were  the  specula 
tions  as  to  who  the  guilty  party  could  be.  Of 
course,  Isaac  Williams  had  enemies.  But  who 
among  them  was  mean,  ay,  daring  enough  to 
perpetrate  such  a  deed  as  this  ? 

Conjecture  was  rife,  but  futile,  until  old  'Lias 
Hunster,  who  though  he  hated  Williams,  was 
shocked  at  the  deed,  voiced  the  popular  sentiment 
by  saying,  "  Look  a  here,  folks,  I  tell  you  that's 
the  work  o'  niggers,  I  kin  see  their  hand  in  it." 


THE  TRAGEDY  AT  THREE  FORKS   273 

" Niggers,  o'  course,"  exclaimed  every  one  else. 
"Why  didn't  we  think  of  it  before  ?  It's  jest 
like  'em." 

Public  opinion  ran  high  and  fermented  until 
Saturday  afternoon  when  the  county  paper 
brought  the  whole  matter  to  a  climax  by  coming 
out  in  a  sulphurous  account  of  the  affair,  under 
the  scarehead  : 

A  TERRIBLE  OUTRAGE! 
MOST   DASTARDLY  DEED  EVER  COMMITTED   IN  THE 
HISTORY  OF  BARLOW  COUNTY.      A  HIGHLY  RE 
SPECTED,   UNOFFENDING   AND  WELL-BE 
LOVED  FAMILY  BURNED  OUT  OF  HOUSE 
AND  HOME.      NEGROES!    UN 
DOUBTEDLY  THE  PERPETRA 
TORS  OF  THE  DEED! 

The  article  went  on  to  give  the  facts  of  the 
case,  and  many  more  supposed  facts,  which  had 
originated  entirely  in  the  mind  of  the  corre 
spondent.  Among  these  facts  was  the  intelligence 
that  some  strange  negroes  had  been  seen  lurking 
in  the  vicinity  the  day  before  the  catastrophe 
and  that  a  party  of  citizens  and  farmers  were 
scouring  the  surrounding  country  in  search  of 
them.  "They  would,  if  caught,"  concluded  the 
correspondent,  "  be  summarily  dealt  with." 


274  THE  TRAGEDY  AT  THREE  FORKS 

Notwithstanding  the  utter  falsity  of  these  state 
ments,  it  did  not  take  long  for  the  latter  part  of 
the  article  to  become  a  prophecy  fulfilled,  and 
soon,  excited,  inflamed  and  misguided  parties  of 
men  and  boys  were  scouring  the  woods  and 
roads  in  search  of  strange  "  niggers."  Nor  was 
it  long,  before  one  of  the  parties  raised  the  cry 
that  they  had  found  the  culprits.  They  had  come 
upon  two  strange  negroes  going  through  the 
woods,  who  seeing  a  band  of  mounted  and 
armed  men,  had  instantly  taken  to  their  heels. 
This  one  act  had  accused,  tried  and  convicted 
them. 

The  different  divisions  of  the  searching  party 
came  together,  and  led  the  negroes  with  ropes 
around  their  necks  into  the  centre  of  the  village. 
Excited  crowds  on  the  one  or  two  streets  which 
the  hamlet  boasted,  cried  "  Lynch  'em,  lynch 
'em!  Hang  the  niggers  up  to  the  first  tree!" 

Jane  Hunster  was  in  one  of  the  groups,  as  the 
shivering  negroes  passed,  and  she  turned  very 
pale  even  under  the  sunburn  that  browned  her 
face. 

The  law-abiding  citizens  of  Barlow  County, 
who  composed  the  capturing  party,  were  deaf  to 
the  admonitions  of  the  crowd.  They  filed 


THE  TRAGEDY  AT  THREE  FORKS  275 

solemnly  up  the  street,  and  delivered  their  prison 
ers  to  the  keeper  of  the  jail,  sheriff,  by  courtesy, 
and  scamp  by  the  seal  of  Satan;  and  then  quietly 
dispersed.  There  was  something  ominous  in 
their  very  orderliness. 

Late  that  afternoon,  the  man  who  did  duty  as 
prosecuting  attorney  for  that  county,  visited  the 
prisoners  at  the  jail,  and  drew  from  them  the 
story  that  they  were  farm-laborers  from  an  ad 
joining  county.  They  had  come  over  only  the 
day  before,  and  were  passing  through  on  the 
quest  for  work;  the  bad  weather  and  the  lateness 
of  the  season  having  thrown  them  out  at  home. 

"Uh,  huh,"  said  the  prosecuting  attorney  at 
the  conclusion  of  the  tale,  "  your  story's  all  right, 
but  the  only  trouble  is  that  it  won't  do  here. 
They  won't  believe  you.  Now,  I'm  a  friend  to 
niggers  as  much  as  any  white  man  can  be,  if 
they'll  only  be  friends  to  themselves,  an'  I  want 
to  help  you  two  all  I  can.  There's  only  one  way 
out  of  this  trouble.  You  must  confess  that  you 
did  this." 

"But  Mistah,"  said  the  bolder  of  the  two 
negroes,  "how  kin  we  'fess,  when  we  wasn' 
nowhahs  nigh  de  place  ?  " 

"  Now  there  you  go  with  regular  nigger  stub- 


276  THE  TRAGEDY  AT  THREE  FORKS 

bornness;  didn't  I  tell  you  that  that  was  the  only 
way  out  of  this  ?  If  you  persist  in  saying  you 
didn't  do  it,  they'll  hang  you;  whereas,  if  you 
own,  you'll  only  get  a  couple  of  years  in  the 
'pen.'  Which  'ud  you  rather  have,  a  couple  o' 
years  to  work  out,  or  your  necks  stretched  ?  " 

"Oh,  we'll  'fess,  Mistah,  we'll  'fess  we  done 
it;  please,  please  don't  let  'em  hang  us!"  cried 
the  thoroughly  frightened  blacks. 

"  Well,  that's  something  like  it,"  said  the  prose 
cuting  attorney  as  he  rose  to  go.  "  I'll  see  what 
can  be  done  for  you." 

With  marvelous  and  mysterious  rapidity,  con 
sidering  the  reticence  which  a  prosecuting  at 
torney  who  was  friendly  to  the  negroes  should 
display,  the  report  got  abroad  that  the  negroes 
had  confessed  their  crime,  and  soon  after  dark, 
ominous  looking  crowds  began  to  gather  in  the 
streets.  They  passed  and  repassed  the  place, 
where  stationed  on  the  little  wooden  shelf  that 
did  duty  as  a  doorstep,  Jane  Hunster  sat  with  her 
head  buried  in  her  hands.  She  did  not  raise  up 
to  look  at  any  of  them,  until  a  hand  was  laid  on 
her  shoulder,  and  a  voice  called  her,  "Jane!  " 

"Oh,  hit's  you,  is  it,  Bud,"  she  said,  raising 
her  head  slowly,  "howdy  ?" 


THE  TRAGEDY  AT  THREE  FORKS  277 

"  Howdy  yoreself,"  said  the  young  man,  look 
ing  down  at  her  tenderly. 

"  Bresh  off  yore  pants  an'  set  down,"  said  the 
girl  making  room  for  him  on  the  step.  The 
young  man  did  so,  at  the  same  time  taking  hold 
of  her  hand  with  awkward  tenderness. 

"Jane,"  he  said,  "I  jest  can't  wait  fur  my 
answer  no  longer!  you  got  to  tell  me  to-night, 
either  one  way  or  the  other.  Dock  Heaters  has 
been  a-blowin'  hit  aroun'  that  he  has  beat  my 
time  with  you.  I  don't  believe  it  Jane,  fur  after 
keepin'  me  waitin'  all  these  years,  I  don't  believe 
you'd  go  back  on  me.  You  know  I've  allus 
loved  you,  ever  sence  we  was  little  children  to 
gether." 

The  girl  was  silent  until  he  leaned  over  and 
said  in  pleading  tones,  "What  do  you  say, 
Jane?" 

"I  hain't  fitten  fur  you,  Bud." 

"Don't  talk  that-a-way,  Jane,  you  know  ef 
you  jest  say  '  yes,'  I'll  be  the  happiest  man  in  the 
state." 

"Well,  yes,  then,  Bud,  for  you're  my  choice, 
even  ef  I  have  fooled  with  you  fur  a  long  time; 
an'  I'm  glad  now  that  I  kin  make  somebody 
happy."  The  girl  was  shivering,  and  her  hands 


278  THE  TRAGEDY  AT  THREE  FORKS 

were  cold,  but  she  made  no  movement  to  rise  or 
enter  the  house. 

Bud  put  his  arms  around  her  and  kissed  her 
shyly.  And  just  then  a  shout  arose  from  the 
crowd  down  the  street. 

"What's  that  ?"  she  asked. 

"It's  the  boys  gittin'  worked  up,  I  reckon. 
They're  going  to  lynch  them  niggers  to-night 
that  burned  ole  man  Williams  out." 

The  girl  leaped  to  her  feet,  "They  mustn't  do 
it,"  she  cried.  "They  ain't  never  been  tried!" 

"Set  down,  Janey,"  said  her  lover,  "they've 
owned  up  to  it." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  she  exclaimed,  "some 
body's  jest  a  lyin'  on  'em  to  git  'em  hung  because 
they're  niggers." 

"Sh— Jane,  you're  excited,  you  ain't  well;  I 
noticed  that  when  I  first  come  to-night.  Some 
body's  got  to  suffer  fur  that  house-burnin',  an' 
it  might  ez  well  be  them  ez  anybody  else.  You 
mustn't  talk  so.  Ef  people  knowed  you  wuz  a 
standin'  up  fur  niggers  so,  it  'ud  ruin  you." 

He  had  hardly  finished  speaking,  when  the 
gate  opened,  and  another  man  joined  them. 

"Hello,  there,  Dock  Heaters,  that  you?"  said 
Bud  Mason. 


THE  TRAGEDY  AT  THREE  FORKS  279 

"  Yes,  it's  me.  How  are  you,  Jane  ?  "  said  the 
newcomer. 

"Oh,  jest  middlin',  Dock,  I  ain't  right  well." 

"Well,  you  might  be  in  better  business  than 
settin'  out  here  talkin'  to  Bud  Mason." 

"Don't  know  how  as  to  that,"  said  his  rival, 
"seein'  as  we're  engaged." 

"  You're  a  liar!  "  flashed  Dock  Heaters. 

Bud  Mason  half  rose,  then  sat  down  again;  his 
triumph  was  sufficient  without  a  fight.  To  him 
"  liar  "  was  a  hard  name  to  swallow  without  re 
sort  to  blows,  but  he  only  said,  his  flashing  eyes 
belying  his  calm  tone,  "  Mebbe  I  am  a  liar,  jest 
ast  Jane." 

"Is  that  the  truth,  Jane?"  asked  Heaters,  an 
grily. 

"Yes,  hit  is,  Dock  Heaters,  an'  I  don't  see 
what  you've  got  to  say  about  it;  I  hain't  never 
promised  you  nothin'  shore." 

Heaters  turned  toward  the  gate  without  a 
word.  Bud  sent  after  him  a  mocking  laugh,  and 
the  bantering  words,  "You'd  better  go  down, 
an'  he'p  hang  them  niggers,  that's  all  you're  good 
fur."  And  the  rival  really  did  bend  his  steps  in 
that  direction. 

Another  shout  arose  from  the  throng  down 


280  THE  TRAGEDY  AT  THREE  FORKS 

the  street,  and  rising  hastily,  Bud  Mason  ex 
claimed,  "I  must  be  goin',  that  yell  means  busi 
ness." 

"Don't  go  down  there,  Bud!"  cried  Jane. 
" Don't  go,  fur  my  sake,  don't  go."  She 
stretched  out  her  arms,  and  clasped  them  about 
his  neck. 

"  You  don't  want  me  to  miss  nothin'  like  that," 
he  said  as  he  unclasped  her  arms;  "  don't  you  be 
worried,  I'll  be  back  past  here."  And  in  a  mo 
ment  he  was  gone,  leaving  her  cry  of  "Bud, 
Bud,  come  back,"  to  smite  the  empty  silence. 

When  Bud  Mason  reached  the  scene  of  action, 
the  mob  had  already  broken  into  the  jail  and 
taken  out  the  trembling  prisoners.  The  ropes 
were  round  their  necks  and  they  had  been  led  to 
a  tree. 

"See  ef  they'll  do  any  more  house-burnin' ! " 
cried  one  as  the  ends  of  the  ropes  were  thrown 
over  the  limbs  of  the  tree. 

"  Reckon  they'll  like  dancin'  hemp  a  heap  bet 
ter,"  mocked  a  second. 

"Justice  an'  pertection!  "  yelled  a  third. 

"The  mills  of  the  gods  grind  swift  enough  in 
Barlow  County,"  said  the  schoolmaster. 

The  scene,  the  crowd,  the  flaring  lights  and 


THE  TRAGEDY  AT  THREE  FORKS  281 

harsh  voices  intoxicated  Mason,  and  he  was  soon 
the  most  enthusiastic  man  in  the  mob.  At  the 
word,  his  was  one  of  the  willing  hands  that 
seized  the  rope,  and  jerked  the  negroes  off  their 
feet  into  eternity.  He  joined  the  others  with 
savage  glee  as  they  emptied  their  revolvers  into 
the  bodies.  Then  came  the  struggle  for  pieces 
of  the  rope  as  "  keepsakes."  The  scramble  was 
awful.  Bud  Mason  had  just  laid  hold  of  a  piece 
and  cut  it  off,  when  some  one  laid  hold  of  the 
other  end.  It  was  not  at  the  rope's  end,  and  the 
other  man  also  used  his  knife  in  getting  a  hold. 
Mason  looked  up  to  see  who  his  antagonist  was, 
and  his  face  grew  white  with  anger.  It  was 
Dock  Heaters. 

"  Let  go  this  rope,"  he  cried. 

"Let  go  yoreself,  I  cut  it  first,  an'  I'm  a  goin' 
to  have  it." 

They  tugged  and  wrestled  and  panted,  but  they 
were  evenly  matched  and  neither  gained  the  ad 
vantage. 

"Let  go,  I  say,"  screamed  Heaters,  wild  with 
rage. 

"I'll  die  first,  you  dirty  dog! " 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  mouth  before 
a  knife  flashed  in  the  light  of  the  lanterns,  and 


282  THE  TRAGEDY  AT  THREE  FORKS 

with  a  sharp  cry,  Bud  Mason  fell  to  the  ground. 
Heaters  turned  to  fly,  but  strong  hands  seized 
and  disarmed  him. 

"He's  killed  him!  Murder,  murder!"  arose 
the  cry,  as  the  crowd  with  terror-stricken  faces 
gathered  about  the  murderer  and  his  victim. 

"  Lynch  him ! "  suggested  some  one  whose  thirst 
for  blood  was  not  yet  appeased. 

"No,"  cried  an  imperious  voice,  "who  knows 
what  may  have  put  him  up  to  it  ?  Give  a  white 
man  a  chance  for  his  life." 

The  crowd  parted  to  let  in  the  town  marshal 
and  the  sheriff  who  took  charge  of  the  prisoner, 
and  led  him  to  the  little  rickety  jail,  whence  he 
escaped  later  that  night;  while  others  improvised 
a  litter,  and  bore  the  dead  man  to  his  home. 

The  news  had  preceded  them  up  the  street,  and 
reached  Jane's  ears.  As  they  passed  her  home, 
she  gazed  at  them  with  a  stony,  vacant  stare, 
muttering  all  the  while  as  she  rocked  herself  to 
and  fro,  "I  knowed  it,  I  knowed  it!" 

The  press  was  full  of  the  double  lynching  and 
the  murder.  Conservative  editors  wrote  leaders 
about  it  in  which  they  deplored  the  rashness  of 
the  hanging  but  warned  the  negroes  that  the 
only  way  to  stop  lynching  was  to  quit  the  crimes 


THE  TRAGEDY  AT  THREE  FORKS  283 

of  which  they  so  often  stood  accused.  But  only 
in  one  little  obscure  sheet  did  an  editor  think  to 
say,  "  There  was  Salem  and  its  witchcraft;  there 
is  the  south  and  its  lynching.  When  the  blind 
frenzy  of  a  people  condemn  a  man  as  soon  as  he 
is  accused,  his  enemies  need  not  look  far  for  a 
pretext!" 


THE  FINDING 
OF  ZACH 


285 


THE  FINDING  OF  ZACH 

THE  rooms  of  the  "  Banner  "  Club — an  organi 
zation  of  social  intent,  but  with  political  streaks 
—were  a  blaze  of  light  that  Christmas  Eve  night. 
On  the  lower  floor  some  one  was  strumming  on 
the  piano,  and  upstairs,  where  the  " ladies"  sat, 
and  where  the  Sunday  smokers  were  held,  a  man 
was  singing  one  of  the  latest  coon  songs.  The 
"  Banner "  always  got  them  first,  mainly  because 
the  composers  went  there,  and  often  the  air  of 
the  piece  itself  had  been  picked  out  or  patched 
together,  with  the  help  of  the  "  Banner's"  piano, 
before  the  song  was  taken  out  for  somebody  to 
set  the  "  'companiment  "  to  it. 

The  proprietor  himself  had  just  gone  into  the 
parlor  to  see  that  the  Christmas  decorations  were 
all  that  he  intended  them  to  be  when  a  door 
opened  and  an  old  man  entered  the  room.  In 
one  hand  he  carried  an  ancient  carpetbag,  which 
he  deposited  on  the  floor,  while  he  stared  around 
at  the  grandeur  of  the  place.  He  was  a  typical 

old  uncle  of  the  South,  from  the  soles  of  his 
287 


288  THE  FINDING  OF  ZACH 

heavy  brogans  to  the  shiny  top  of  his  bald  pate, 
with  its  fringe  of  white  wool.  It  was  plain  to 
be  seen  that  he  was  not  a  denizen  of  the  town, 
or  of  that  particular  quarter.  They  do  not  grow 
old  in  the  Tenderloin.  He  paused  long  enough 
to  take  in  the  appointments  of  the  place,  then, 
suddenly  remembering  his  manners,  he  doffed  his 
hat  and  bowed  with  old-fashioned  courtesy  to 
the  splendid  proprietor. 

"  Why,  how'do,  uncle  !  "  said  the  genial  Mr. 
Turner,  extending  his  hand.  "Where  did  you 
stray  from  ?  " 

"  Howdy,  son,  howdy,"  returned  the  old  man 
gravely.  "  I  hails  f  om  Miss'ippi  myse'f,  a  mighty 
long  ways  f  om  hyeah." 

His  voice  and  old-time  intonation  were  good  to 
listen  to,  and  Mr.  Turner's  thoughts  went  back 
to  an  earlier  day  in  his  own  life.  He  was  from 
Maryland  himself.  He  drew  up  a  chair  for  the 
old  man  and  took  one  himself.  A  few  other  men 
passed  into  the  room  and  stopped  to  look  with 
respectful  amusement  at  the  visitor.  He  was 
such  a  perfect  bit  of  old  plantation  life  and  so 
obviously  out  of  place  in  a  Tenderloin  club  room. 

"Well,  uncle,  are  you  looking  for  a  place  to 
stay  ?  "  pursued  Turner. 


THE  FINDING  OF  ZACH  289 

"Not  'zackly,  honey  ;  not  'zackly.  I  come  up 
hyeah  a-lookin'  fu'  a  son  o'  mine  dat  been  away 
f'om  home  nigh  on  to  five  years.  He  live  hyeah 
in  Noo  Yo'k,  an'  dey  tell  me  whaih  I  'quiahed  dat 
I  li'ble  to  fin'  somebody  hyeah  dat  know  him.  So 
I  jes'  drapped  in." 

"  I  know  a  good  many  young  men  from  the 
South.  What's  your  son's  name  ?" 

"  Well,  he  named  aftah  my  ol'  mastah,  Zach- 
ariah  Priestley  Shackelford." 

"Zach  Shackelford  !  "  exclaimed  some  of  the 
men,  and  there  was  a  general  movement  among 
them,  but  a  glance  from  Turner  quieted  the  com 
motion. 

"Why,  yes,  I  know  your  son,"  he  said. 
"  He's  in  here  almost  every  night,  and  he's  pretty 
sure  to  drop  in  a  little  later  on.  He  has  been 
singing  with  one  of  the  colored  companies  here 
until  a  couple  of  weeks  ago." 

"  Heish  up  ;  you  don't  say  so.  Well  !  well  ! 
well  !  but  den  Zachariah  allus  did  have  a  mighty 
sweet  voice.  He  tu'k  hit  aftah  his  mammy. 
Well,  I  sholy  is  hopin'  to  see  dat  boy.  He  was 
allus  my  favorite,  aldough  I  reckon  a  body  ain' 
got  no  livin'  right  to  have  favorites  among  dey 
chilluns.  But  Zach  was  allus  sich  a  good  boy." 


29o  THE  FINDING  OF  ZACH 

The  men  turned  away.  They  could  not  re 
member  a  time  since  they  had  known  Zach 
Shackelford  when  by  any  stretch  of  imagination 
he  could  possibly  have  been  considered  good. 
He  was  known  as  one  of  the  wildest  young 
bucks  that  frequented  the  club,  with  a  deft  hand 
at  cards  and  dice  and  a  smooth  throat  for  whisky. 
But  Turner  gave  them  such  a  defiant  glance  that 
they  were  almost  ready  to  subscribe  to  anything 
the  old  man  might  say. 

"Dis  is  a  mighty  fine  place  you  got  hyeah. 
Hit  mus'  be  a  kind  of  a  hotel  or  boa'din'  house, 
ain't  hit  ?" 

"Yes,  something  like." 

"We  don'  have  nuffin'  lak  dis  down  ouah  way. 
Co'se,  we's  jes'  common  folks.  We  wo'ks  out  in 
de  fiel',  and  dat's  about  all  we  knows — fiel', 
chu'ch  an'  cabin.  But  I's  mighty  glad  my  Zach 
's  gittin'  up  in  de  worl'.  He  nevah  were  no  great 
han'  fu'  wo'k.  Hit  kin'  o'  seemed  to  go  agin  his 
natur'.  You  know  dey  is  folks  lak  dat." 

"Lots  of  'em,  lots  of  'em,"  said  Mr.  Turner. 

The  crowd  of  men  had  been  augmented  by  a 
party  from  out  of  the  card  room,  and  they  were 
listening  intently  to  the  old  fellow's  chatter. 
They  felt  now  that  they  ought  to  laugh,  but 


THE  FINDING  OF  ZACH  291 

somehow  they  could  not,  and  the  twitching  of 
their  careless  faces  was  not  from  suppressed 
merriment. 

The  visitor  looked  around  at  them,  and  then  re 
marked:  "  My,  what  a  lot  of  boa'dahs  you  got." 

"They  don't  all  stay  here,"  answered  Turner 
seriously;  ''some  of  them  have  just  dropped  in 
to  see  their  friends." 

"Den  I  'low  Zach'll  be  drappin'  in  presently. 
You  mus'  'scuse  me  fu'  talkin'  'bout  him,  but  I's 
mighty  anxious  to  clap  my  eyes  on  him.  I's  been 
gittin'  on  right  sma't  dese  las'  two  yeahs,  an'  my 
ol'  ooman  she  daid  an'  gone,  an'  I  kin'  o'  lone 
some,  so  I  jes'  p'omised  mysef  dis  Crismus  de  gif 
of  a  sight  o'  Zach.  Hit  do  look  foolish  fu'  a  man 
ez  ol'  ez  me  to  be  a  runnin'  'roun'  de  woiT  a 
spen'in'  money  dis  away,  but  hit  do  seem  so  ha'd 
to  git  Zach  home." 

"  How  long  are  you  going  to  be  with  us  ?  " 

"Well,  I  'specs  to  stay  all  o'  Crismus  week." 

"Maybe "  began  one  of  the  men.  But 

Turner  interrupted  him.  "  This  gentleman  is  my 
guest.  Uncle,"  turning  to  the  old  man,  "do  you 
ever — would  you — er.  I've  got  some  pretty  good 
liquor  here,  ah " 

Zach's  father  smiled  a  sly  smile.    "  I  do'  know, 


292  THE  FINDING  OF  ZACH 

suh,"  he  said,  crossing  his  leg  high.  "  I's  Baptis' 
mys'f,  but  'long  o'  dese  Crismus  holidays  I's  right 
fond  of  a  little  toddy." 

A  half  dozen  eager  men  made  a  break  for  the 
bar,  but  Turner's  uplifted  hand  held  them.  He 
was  an  autocrat  in  his  way. 

"  Excuse  me,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "but  I  think 
I  remarked  some  time  ago  that  Mr.  Shackelford 
was  my  guest."  And  he  called  the  waiter. 

All  the  men  had  something  and  tapped  rims 
with  the  visitor. 

"Tears  to  me  you  people  is  mighty  clevah  up 
hyeah;  'tain'  no  wondah  Zachariah  don'  wan'  to 
come  home." 

Just  then  they  heard  a  loud  whoop  outside  the 
door,  and  a  voice  broke  in  upon  them  singing 
thickly,  "Oh,  this  spo'tin'  life  is  surely  killin' 
me."  The  men  exchanged  startled  glances. 
Turner  looked  at  them,  and  there  was  a  command 
in  his  eye.  Several  of  them  hurried  out,  and  he 
himself  arose,  saying:  "I've  got  to  go  out  for  a 
little  while,  but  you  just  make  yourself  at  home, 
uncle.  You  can  lie  down  right  there  on  that  sofa 
and  push  that  button  there — see,  this  way — if 
you  want  some  more  toddy.  It  shan't  cost  you 
anything." 


THE  FINDING  OF  ZACH  293 

"Oh,  I'll  res'  myself,  but  I  ain'  gwine  sponge 
on  you  dat  away.  I  got  some  money,"  and  the 
old  man  dug  down  into  his  long  pocket.  But  his 
host  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Your  money's  no  good  up  here." 

"  Wh— wh — why,  I  thought  dis  money  passed 
any  whah  in  de  Nunited  States! "  exclaimed  the 
bewildered  old  man. 

"That's  all  right,  but  you  can't  spend  it  until 
we  run  out." 

"Oh!  Why,  bless  yo'  soul,  suh,  you  skeered 
me.  You  sho'  is  clevah." 

Turner  went  out  and  came  upon  his  emissaries, 
where  they  had  halted  the  singing  Zach  in  the 
hallway,  and  were  trying  to  get  into  his  muddled 
brain  that  his  father  was  there. 

"  Wha'sh  de  ol'  man  doin'  at  de  'Banner,'  git- 
tin'  gay  in  his  ol'  days  ?  Hie." 

That  was  enough  for  Turner  to  hear.  "Look 
a-here,"  he  said,  "don't  you  get  flip  when  you 
meet  your  father.  He's  come  a  long  ways  to  see 
you,  and  I'm  damned  if  he  shan't  see  you  right. 
Remember  you're  stoppin'  at  my  house  as  long  as 
the  old  man  stays,  and  if  you  make  a  break  while 
he's  here  I'll  spoil  your  mug  for  you.  Bring  him 
along,  boys." 


294  THE  FINDING  OF  ZACH 

Zach  had  started  in  for  a  Christmas  celebration, 
but  they  took  him  into  an  empty  room.  They 
sent  to  the  drug  store  and  bought  many  things. 
When  the  young  man  came  out  an  hour  later  he 
was  straight,  but  sad. 

"Why,  Pap,"  he  said  when  he  saw  the  old 
man,  "I'll  be " 

"Hem!"  said  Turner. 

"  I'll  be  blessed! "  Zach  finished. 

The  old  man  looked  him  over.  "Tsch!  tsch! 
tsch!  Dis  is  a  Crismus  gif  fu'  sho'! "  His  voice 
was  shaking.  "I's  so  glad  to  see  you,  honey; 
but  chile,  you  smell  lak  a  'pothac'ay  shop." 

"I  ain't  been  right  well  lately,"  said  Zach  sheep 
ishly. 

To  cover  his  confusion  Turner  called  for  egg- 
nog. 

When  it  came  the  old  man  said:  "Well,  I's 
Baptis'  myse'f,  but  seein'  it's  Crismus " 


JOHNSONHAM, 
JUNIOR 


295 


JOHNSONHAM,  JUNIOR 

Now  any  one  will  agree  with  me  that  it  is  en 
tirely  absurd  for  two  men  to  fall  out  about  their 
names;  but  then,  circumstances  alter  cases.  It 
had  its  beginning  in  1863,  and  it  has  just  ended. 

In  the  first  place,  Ike  and  Jim  had  been  good 
friends  on  the  plantation,  but  when  the  time 
came  for  them  to  leave  and  seek  homes  for  them 
selves  each  wanted  a  name.  The  master's  name 
was  Johnson,  and  they  both  felt  themselves  en 
titled  to  it.  When  Ike  went  forth  to  men  as  Isaac 
Johnson,  and  Jim,  not  to  be  outdone,  became 
James  Johnsonham,  the  rivalry  began.  Each 
married  and  became  the  father  of  a  boy  who 
took  his  father's  name. 

When  both  families  moved  North  and  settled 
in  Little  Africa  their  children  had  been  taught 
that  there  must  be  eternal  enmity  between  them 
on  account  of  their  names,  and  just  as  lasting  a 
friendship  on  every  other  score.  But  with  boys 
it  was  natural  that  the  rivalry  should  extend  to 
other  things.  When  they  went  to  school  it  was 
297 


298  JOHNSONHAM,  JUNIOR 

a  contest  for  leadership  both  in  the  classroom  and 
in  sports,  and  when  Isaac  Johnson  left  school  to 
go  to  work  in  the  brickyard,  James  Johnsonham, 
not  to  be  outdone  in  industry,  also  entered  the 
same  field  of  labor. 

Later,  it  was  questioned  all  up  and  down  Doug 
lass  Street,  which,  by  the  way,  is  the  social  centre 
of  Little  Africa— as  to  which  of  the  two  was  the 
better  dancer  or  the  more  gallant  beau.  It  was  a 
piece  of  good  fortune  that  they  did  not  fall  in  love 
with  the  same  girl  and  bring  their  rivalry  into 
their  affairs  of  the  heart,  for  they  were  only  men, 
and  nothing  could  have  kept  them  friends.  But 
they  came  quite  as  near  it  as  they  could,  for  Ma 
tilda  Benson  was  as  bright  a  girl  as  Martha  Mason, 
and  when  Ike  married  her  she  was  an  even-run 
ning  contestant  with  her  friend,  Martha,  for  the 
highest  social  honors  of  their  own  particular  set. 

It  was  a  foregone  conclusion  that  when  they 
were  married  and  settled  they  should  live  near 
each  other.  So  the  houses  were  distant  from 
each  other  only  two  or  three  doors.  It  was  be 
cause  every  one  knew  every  one  else's  business 
in  that  locality  that  Sandy  Worthington  took  it 
upon  himself  to  taunt  the  two  men  about  their 
bone  of  contention. 


JOHNSONHAM,  JUNIOR  299 

"Mr.  Johnson,"  he  would  say,  when,  coming 
from  the  down-town  store  where  he  worked,  he 
would  meet  the  two  coming  from  their  own  la 
bors  in  the  brickyard,  "how  are  you  an'  Mistah 
Johnsonham  mekin'  it  ovah  yo'  names?" 

"  Well,  I  don'  know  that  Johnsonham  is  so 
much  of  a  name,"  Ike  would  say;  and  Jim  would 
reply:  "I  'low  it's  mo'  name  than  Johnson,  any 
how." 

"So  is  stealin'  ham  mo'  than  stealin',"  was  the 
other's  rejoinder,  and  then  his  friends  would 
double  up  with  mirth. 

Sometimes  the  victorious  repartee  was  Jim's, 
and  then  the  laugh  was  on  the  other  side.  But 
the  two  went  at  it  all  good-naturedly,  until  one 
day,  one  foolish  day,  when  they  had  both  stopped 
too  often  on  the  way  home,  Jim  grew  angry  at 
some  little  fling  of  his  friend's,  and  burst  into 
hot  abuse  of  him.  At  first  Ike  was  only  aston 
ished,  and  then  his  eyes,  red  with  the  dust  of  the 
brick-field,  grew  redder,  the  veins  of  his  swarthy 
face  swelled,  and  with  a  "Take  that,  Mistah 
Johnsonham,"  he  gave  Jim  a  resounding  thwack 
across  the  face. 

It  took  only  a  little  time  for  a  crowd  to  gather, 
and,  with  their  usual  tormentor  to  urge  them  on, 


300  JOHNSONHAM,  JUNIOR 

the  men  forgot  themselves  and  went  into  the 
fight  in  dead  earnest.  It  was  a  hard-fought 
battle.  Both  rolled  in  the  dust,  caught  at  each 
other's  short  hair,  pummeled,  bit  and  swore. 
They  were  still  rolling  and  tumbling  when  their 
wives,  apprised  of  the  goings  on,  appeared  upon 
the  scene  and  marched  them  home. 

After  that,  because  they  were  men,  they  kept  a 
sullen  silence  between  them,  but  Matilda  and 
Martha,  because  they  were  women,  had  much  to 
say  to  each  other,  and  many  unpleasant  epithets 
to  hurl  and  hurl  again  across  the  two  yards  that 
intervened  between  them.  Finally,  neither  little 
family  spoke  to  the  other.  And  then,  one  day, 
there  was  a  great  bustle  about  Jim's  house.  A 
wise  old  woman  went  waddling  in,  and  later  the 
doctor  came.  That  night  the  proud  husband  and 
father  was  treating  his  friends,  and  telling  them 
it  was  a  boy,  and  his  name  was  to  be  James 
Johnsonham,  Junior. 

For  a  week  Jim  was  irregular  and  unsteady  in 
his  habits,  when  one  night,  full  of  gin  and  pride, 
he  staggered  up  to  a  crowd  which  was  surround 
ing  his  rival,  and  said  in  a  loud  voice,  "James 
Johnsonham,  Junior — how  does  that  strike  you  ?  " 

' '  Any  bettah  than  Isaac  Johnson,  Junior  ?  "  asked 


JOHNSONHAM,  JUNIOR  301 

some  one,  slapping  the  happy  Ike  on  the  shoul 
der  as  the  crowd  burst  into  a  loud  guffaw.  Jim's 
head  was  sadly  bemuddled,  and  for  a  time  he 
gazed  upon  the  faces  about  him  in  bewilderment. 
Then  a  light  broke  in  upon  his  mind,  and  with  a 
"Whoo-ee!"  he  said,  "No!"  Ike  grinned  a 
defiant  grin  at  him,  and  led  the  way  to  the  near 
est  place  where  he  and  his  friends  might  cele 
brate. 

Jim  went  home  to  his  wife  full  of  a  sullen,  heavy 
anger.  "Ike  Johnson  got  a  boy  at  his  house, 
too,"  he  said,  "an'  he  done  put  Junior  to  his 
name."  Martha  raised  her  head  from  the  pillow 
and  hugged  her  own  baby  to  her  breast  closer. 

"  It  do  beat  all,"  she  made  answer  airily;  "  we 
can't  do  a  blessed  thing  but  them  thaih  Johnsons 
has  to  follow  right  in  ouah  steps.  Anyhow,  I 
don't  believe  their  baby  is  no  sich  healthy  lookin' 
chile  as  this  one  is,  bress  his  little  hea't!  'Cause  I 
knows  Matilda  Benson  nevah  was  any  too 
strong." 

She  was  right;  Matilda  Benson  was  not  so 
strong.  The  doctor  went  oftener  to  Ike's  house 
than  he  had  gone  to  Jim's,  and  three  or  four  days 
after  an  undertaker  went  in. 

They  tried  to  keep  the  news  from  Martha's 


302  JOHNSONHAM,  JUNIOR 

ears,  but  somehow  it  leaked  into  them,  and  when 
Jim  came  home  on  that  evening  she  looked  into 
her  husband's  face  with  a  strange,  new  expres 
sion. 

"Oh,  Jim,"  she  cried  weakly,  "Tildy  done 
gone,  an'  me  jes'  speakin'  ha'd  'bout  huh  a  little 
while  ago,  an'  that  po'  baby  lef  thaih  to  die! 
Ain't  it  awful  ?  " 

"Nev'  min',"  said  Jim,  huskily;  "  nev'  min', 
honey."  He  had  seen  Ike's  face  when  the  mes 
senger  had  come  for  him  at  the  brickyard,  and 
the  memory  of  it  was  like  a  knife  at  his  heart. 

"Jes'  think,  I  said,  only  a  day  or  so  ago," 
Martha  went  on,  "that  Tildy  wasn't  strong;  an1 
I  was  glad  of  it,  Jim,  I  was  glad  of  it!  I  was 
jealous  of  huh  havin'  a  baby,  too.  Now  she's 
daid,  an'  I  feel  jes'  lak  I'd  killed  huh.  S'p'osin' 
God  'ud  sen'  a  jedgment  on  me — s'p'osin'  He'd 
take  our  little  Jim  ?" 

"  Sh,  sh,  honey,"  said  Jim,  with  a  man's  in 
adequacy  in  such  a  moment.  "  Tain't  yo'  fault; 
you  nevah  wished  huh  any  ha'm." 

"No;  but  I  said  it,  I  said  it!" 

"  Po'  Ike,"  said  Jim  absently;  "po'  fellah!  " 

"Won't  you  go  thaih,"  she  asked,  "an'  see 
what  you  kin  do  fu'  him  ?" 


JOHNSONHAM,  JUNIOR  303 

"  He  don't  speak  to  me." 

"You  mus'  speak  to  him;  you  got  to  do  it, 
Jim;  you  got  to." 

"  What  kin  I  say  ?    Tildy's  daid." 

She  reached  up  and  put  her  arms  around  her 
husband's  brawny  neck.  "Go  bring  that  po' 
little  lamb  hyeah,"  she  said.  "I  kin  save  it,  an' 
'ten'  to  two.  It'll  be  a  sort  of  consolation  fu'  him 
to  keep  his  chile." 

"Kin  you  do  that,  Marthy?"  he  said.  "Kin 
you  do  that?" 

"I  know  I  kin."  A  great  load  seemed  to  lift 
itself  from  Jim's  heart  as  he  burst  out  of  the 
house.  He  opened  Ike's  door  without  knocking. 
The  man  sat  by  the  empty  fireplace  with  his  head 
bowed  over  the  ashes. 

"Ike,"  he  said,  and  then  stopped. 

Ike  raised  his  head  and  glanced  at  him  with  a 
look  of  dull  despair.  "She's  gone,"  he  replied; 
"Tildy's  gone."  There  was  no  touch  of  anger 
in  his  tone.  It  was  as  if  he  took  the  visit  for 
granted.  All  petty  emotions  had  passed  away 
before  this  great  feeling  which  touched  both 
earth  and  the  beyond. 

"I  come  fu'  the  baby,"  said  Jim.  "Marthy, 
she'll  take  keer  of  it." 


304  JOHNSONHAM,  JUNIOR 

He  reached  down  and  found  the  other's  hand, 
and  the  two  hard  palms  closed  together  in  a 
strong  grip.  "  Ike,"  he  went  on,  "  I'm  goin'  to 
drop  the  'Junior'  an'  the  'ham,'  an'  the  two 
little  ones'll  jes'  grow  up  togethah,  one  o'  them  lak 
the  othah." 

The  bereaved  husband  made  no  response.  He 
only  gripped  the  hand  tighter.  A  little  while 
later  Jim  came  hastily  from  the  house  with  some 
thing  small  wrapped  closely  in  a  shawl. 


THE  FAITH 
CURE  MAN 


3°5 


THE  FAITH  CURE  MAN 

HOPE  is  tenacious.  It  goes  on  living  and  work 
ing  when  science  has  dealt  it  what  should  be  its 
deathblow. 

In  the  close  room  at  the  top  of  the  old  tenement 
house  little  Lucy  lay  wasting  away  with  a  relent 
less  disease.  The  doctor  had  said  at  the  begin 
ning  of  the  winter  that  she  could  not  live.  Now 
he  said  that  he  could  do  no  more  for  her  except 
to  ease  the  few  days  that  remained  for  the  child. 

But  Martha  Benson  would  not  believe  him. 
She  was  confident  that  doctors  were  not  infallible. 
Anyhow,  this  one  wasn't,  for  she  saw  life  and 
health  ahead  for  her  little  one. 

Did  not  the  preacher  at  the  Mission  Home  say: 
"Ask,  and  ye  shall  receive?"  and  had  she  not 
asked  and  asked  again  the  life  of  her  child,  her 
last  and  only  one,  at  the  hands  of  Him  whom  she 
worshipped  ? 

No,  Lucy  was  not  going  to  die.     What  she 

needed  was  country  air  and  a  place  to  run  about 

in.     She  had  been  housed  up  too  much;  these 

long  Northern  winters  were  too  severe  for  her, 

3°7 


308  THE  FAITH  CURE  MAN 

and  that  was  what  made  her  so  pinched  and  thin 
and  weak.  She  must  have  air,  and  she  should 
have  it. 

"Po'  little  lammie,"  she  said  to  the  child, 
"  Mammy's  little  gal  boun'  to  git  well.  Mammy 
gwine  sen'  huh  out  in  de  country  when  the 
spring  comes,  whaih  she  kin  roll  in  de  grass 
an'  pick  flowers  an'  git  good  an'  strong.  Don' 
baby  want  to  go  to  de  country  ?  Don'  baby 
want  to  see  de  sun  shine?"  And  the  child  had 
looked  up  at  her  with  wide,  bright  eyes,  tossed 
her  thin  arms  and  moaned  for  reply. 

"Nemmine,  we  gwine  fool  dat  doctah.  Some 
day  we'll  th'ow  all  his  nassy  medicine  'way,  an' 
he  come  in  an'  say:  '  Whaih's  all  my  medicine?' 
Den  we  answeh  up  sma't  like :  '  We  done  th'owed 
it  out.  We  don'  need  no  nassy  medicine.'  Den 
he  look 'roun' an'  say:  'Who  dat  I  see  runnin' 
roun'  deflo'  hyeah,  a-lookin'  so  fat?'  an'  you  up 
an'  say:  '  Hit's  me,  dat's  who  'tis,  mistah  doctor 
man!'  Den  he  go  out  an1  slam  de  do'  behin' 
him.  Ain'  dat  fine?" 

But  the  child  had  closed  her  eyes,  too  weak 
even  to  listen.  So  her  mother  kissed  her  little 
thin  forehead  and  tiptoed  out,  sending  in  a  child 
from  across  the  hall  to  take  care  of  Lucy  while 


THE  FAITH  CURE  MAN  309 

she  was  at  work,  for  sick  as  the  little  one  was 
she  could  not  stay  at  home  and  nurse  her. 

Hope  grasps  at  a  straw,  and  it  was  quite  in 
keeping  with  the  condition  of  Martha's  mind  that 
she  should  open  her  ears  and  her  heart  when 
they  told  her  of  the  wonderful  works  of  the 
faith-cure  man.  People  had  gone  to  him  on 
crutches,  and  he  had  touched  or  rubbed  them 
and  they  had  come  away  whole.  He  had  gone 
to  the  homes  of  the  bed-ridden,  and  they  had 
risen  up  to  bless  him.  It  was  so  easy  for  her  to 
believe  it  all.  The  only  religion  she  had  ever 
known,  the  wild,  emotional  religion  of  most  of 
her  race,  put  her  credulity  to  stronger  tests  than 
that.  Her  only  question  was,  would  such  a  man 
come  to  her  humble  room.  But  she  put  away 
even  this  thought.  He  must  come.  She  would 
make  him.  Already  she  saw  Lucy  strong,  and 
running  about  like  a  mouse,  the  joy  of  her  heart 
and  the  light  of  her  eyes. 

As  soon  as  she  could  get  time  she  went  hum 
bly  to  see  the  faith  doctor,  and  laid  her  case 
before  him,  hoping,  fearing,  trembling. 

Yes,  he  would  come.  Her  heart  leaped  for 
joy. 

"There  is  no  place,"  said  the  faith  curist,  "too 


310  THE  FAITH  CURE  MAN 

humble  for  the  messenger  of  heaven  to  enter.  I 
am  following  One  who  went  among  the  humblest 
and  the  lowliest,  and  was  not  ashamed  to  be 
found  among  publicans  and  sinners.  I  will  come 
to  your  child,  madam,  and  put  her  again  under 
the  law.  The  law  of  life  is  health,  and  no  one 
who  will  accept  the  law  need  be  sick.  I  am  not 
a  physician.  I  do  not  claim  to  be.  I  only  claim 
to  teach  people  how  not  to  be  sick.  My  fee  is 
five  dollars,  merely  to  defray  my  expenses,  that's 
all.  You  know  the  servant  is  worthy  of  his  hire. 
And  in  this  little  bottle  here  I  have  an  elixir  which 
has  never  been  known  to  fail  in  any  of  the  things 
claimed  for  it.  Since  the  world  has  got  used  to 
taking  medicine  we  must  make  some  concessions 
to  its  prejudices.  But  this  in  reality  is  not  a 
medicine  at  all.  It  is  only  a  symbol.  It  is  really 
liquefied  prayer  and  faith." 

Martha  did  not  understand  anything  of  what  he 
was  saying.  She  did  not  try  to;  she  did  not 
want  to.  She  only  felt  a  blind  trust  in  him  that 
filled  her  heart  with  unspeakable  gladness. 

Tremulous  with  excitement,  she  doled  out  her 
poor  dollars  to  him,  seized  the  precious  elixir  and 
hurried  away  home  to  Lucy,  to  whom  she  was 
carrying  life  and  strength.  The  little  one  made  a 


THE  FAITH  CURE  MAN  311 

weak  attempt  to  smile  at  her  mother,  but  the 
light  flickered  away  and  died  into  greyness  on 
her  face. 

"Now  mammy's  little  gal  gwine  to  git  well 
fu'  sho'.  Mammy  done  bring  huh  somep'n' 
good.  Awed  and  reverent,  she  tasted  the  won 
derful  elixir  before  giving  it  to  the  child.  It 
tasted  very  like  sweetened  water  to  her,  but  she 
knew  that  it  was  not,  and  had  no  doubt  of  its 
virtues. 

Lucy  swallowed  it  as  she  swallowed  every 
thing  her  mother  brought  to  her.  Poor  little  one ! 
She  had  nothing  to  buoy  her  up  or  to  fight 
science  with. 

In  the  course  of  an  hour  her  mother  gave  her 
the  medicine  again,  and  persuaded  herself  that 
there  was  a  perceptible  brightening  in  her 
daughter's  face. 

Mrs.  Mason,  Caroline's  mother,  called  across 
the  hall:  "  How  Lucy  dis  evenin',  Mis'  Benson  ?" 

"Oh,  I  think  Lucy  air  right  peart,"  Martha  re 
plied.  "  Come  over  an'  look  at  huh." 

Mrs.  Mason  came,  and  the  mother  told  her 
about  the  new  faith  doctor  and  his  wonderful 
powers. 

"Why,  Mis'  Mason,"  she  said,  "'pears  like  I 


312  THE  FAITH  CURE  MAN 

could  see  de  change  in  de  child  de  minute  she 
swallowed  dat  medicine." 

Her  neighbor  listened  in  silence,  but  when  she 
went  back  to  her  own  room  it  was  to  shake  her 
head  and  murmur:  "Po'  Marfy,  she  jes'  ez  blind 
ez  a  bat.  She  jes'  go  'long,  holdin'  on  to  dat 
chile  wid  all  huh  might,  an'  I  see  death  in  Lucy's 
face  now.  Dey  ain't  no  faif  nur  prayer,  nur 
Jack-leg  doctors  nuther  gwine  to  save  huh." 

But  Martha  needed  no  pity  then.  She  was 
happy  in  her  self-delusion. 

On  the  morrow  the  faith  doctor  came  to  see 
Lucy.  She  had  not  seemed  so  well  that  morn 
ing,  even  to  her  mother,  who  remained  at  home 
until  the  doctor  arrived.  He  carried  a  conquer 
ing  air,  and  a  baggy  umbrella,  the  latter  of  which 
he  laid  across  the  foot  of  the  bed  as  he  bent 
over  the  moaning  child. 

"  Give  me  some  brown  paper,"  he  commanded. 

Martha  hastened  to  obey,  and  the  priestly  prac 
titioner  dampened  it  in  water  and  laid  it  on  Lucy's 
head,  all  the  time  murmuring  prayers — or  were 
they  incantations  ? — to  himself.  Then  he  placed 
pieces  of  the  paper  on  the  soles  of  the  child's  feet 
and  on  the  palms  of  her  hands,  and  bound  them 
there. 


THE  FAITH  CURE  MAN  313 

When  all  this  was  done  he  knelt  down  and 
prayed  aloud,  ending  with  a  peculiar  version  of 
the  Lord's  prayer,  supposed  to  have  mystic  effect. 
Martha  was  greatly  impressed,  but  through  it  all 
Lucy  lay  and  moaned. 

The  faith  curist  rose  to  go.  "Well,  we  can 
look  to  have  her  out  in  a  few  days.  Remember, 
my  good  woman,  much  depends  upon  you.  You 
must  try  to  keep  your  mind  in  a  state  of  belief. 
Are  you  saved  ? " 

"Oh,  yes,  suh.  I'm  a  puffessor,"  said  Martha, 
and  having  completed  his  mission,  the  man  of 
prayers  went  out,  and  Caroline  again  took 
Martha's  place  at  Lucy's  side. 

In  the  next  two  days  Martha  saw,  or  thought 
she  saw,  a  steady  improvement  in  Lucy.  Ac 
cording  to  instructions,  the  brown  paper  was 
moved  every  day,  moistened,  and  put  back. 

Martha  had  so  far  spurred  her  faith  that  when 
she  went  out  on  Saturday  morning  she  promised 
to  bring  Lucy  something  good  for  her  Christmas 
dinner,  and  a  pair  of  shoes  against  the  time  of 
her  going  out,  and  also  a  little  doll.  She  brought 
them  home  that  night.  Caroline  had  grown  tired 
and,  lighting  the  lamp,  had  gone  home. 

"  I  done  brung  my  little  lady  bird  huh  somep'n 


314  THE  FAITH  CURE  MAN 

nice,"  said  Martha,  "here's  a  HP  doll  and  de  lil' 
shoes,  honey.  How's  de  baby  feel  ?  "  Lucy  did 
not  answer. 

"  You  sleep  ?"  Martha  went  over  to  the  bed. 
The  little  face  was  pinched  and  ashen.  The 
hands  were  cold. 

"  Lucy  !  Lucy  !  "  called  the  mother.  "  Lucy  ! 
Oh,  Gawd  !  It  ain't  true!  She  ain't  daid  ! 
My  little  one,  my  las'  one  ! " 

She  rushed  for  the  elixir  and  brought  it  to  the 
bed.  The  thin  dead  face  stared  back  at  her,  un 
responsive. 

She  sank  down  beside  the  bed,  moaning. 
"Daid,  daid,  oh,  my  Gawd,  gi'  me  back  my 
chile!  Oh,  don't  I  believe  you  enough?  Oh, 
Lucy,  Lucy,  my  little  lamb!  I  got  you  yo'  gif '. 
Oh,  Lucy  ! " 

The  next  day  was  set  apart  for  the  funeral. 
The  Mission  preacher  read:  "The  Lord  giveth 
and  the  Lord  taketh  away,  blessed  be  the  name 
of  the  Lord,"  and  some  one  said  "  Amen  !  "  But 
Martha  could  not  echo  it  in  her  heart.  Lucy  was 
her  last,  her  one  treasured  lamb. 


A  COUNCIL 
OF  STATE 


A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE 
PART  I 

LUTHER  HAMILTON  was  a  great  political  power. 
He  was  neither  representative  in  Congress,  senator 
nor  cabinet  minister.  When  asked  why  he  aspired 
to  none  of  these  places  of  honor  and  emolument 
he  invariably  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  smiled 
inscrutably.  In  fact,  he  found  it  both  more  pleas 
ant  and  more  profitable  simply  to  boss  his  party. 
It  gave  him  power,  position  and  patronage,  and 
yet  put  him  under  obligations  to  no  narrow  con 
stituency. 

As  he  sat  in  his  private  office  this  particular 
morning  there  was  a  smile  upon  his  face,  and  his 
little  eyes  looked  out  beneath  the  heavy  grey  eye 
brows  and  the  massive  cheeks  with  gleams  of 
pleasure.  His  whole  appearance  betokened  the 
fact  that  he  was  feeling  especially  good.  Even 
his  mail  lay  neglected  before  him,  and  his  eyes 
gazed  straight  at  the  wall.  What  wonder  that 
he  should  smile  and  dream.  Had  he  not  just  the 
day  before  utterly  crushed  a  troublesome  oppo 
se 


318  A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE 

nent  ?  Had  he  not  ruined  the  career  of  a  young 
man  who  dared  to  oppose  him,  driven  him  out  of 
public  life  and  forced  his  business  to  the  wall  ? 
If  this  were  not  food  for  self-congratulation  pray 
what  is  ? 

Mr.  Hamilton's  reverie  was  broken  in  upon  by 
a  tap  at  the  door,  and  his  secretary  entered. 

"  Well,  Frank,  what  is  it  now  ?  I  haven't  gone 
through  my  mail  yet." 

"Miss  Kirkman  is  in  the  outer  office,  sir,  and 
would  like  to  see  you  this  morning." 

"Oh,  Miss  Kirkman,  heh;  well,  show  her  in 
at  once." 

The  secretary  disappeared  and  returned  usher 
ing  in  a  young  woman,  whom  the  "boss" 
greeted  cordially. 

"Ah,  Miss  Kirkman,  good-morning!  Good- 
morning!  Always  prompt  and  busy,  I  see. 
Have  a  chair." 

Miss  Kirkman  returned  his  greeting  and  dropped 
into  a  chair.  She  began  at  once  fumbling  in  a 
bag  she  carried. 

"We'll  get  right  to  business,"  she  said.  "I 
know  you're  busy,  and  so  am  I,  and  I  want  to 
get  through.  I've  got  to  go  and  hunt  a  servant 
for  Mrs.  Senator  Dutton  when  I  leave  here." 


A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE  319 

She  spoke  in  a  loud  voice,  and  her  words 
rushed  one  upon  the  other  as  if  she  were  in  the 
habit  of  saying  much  in  a  short  space  of  time. 
This  is  a  trick  of  speech  frequently  acquired  by 
those  who  visit  public  men.  Miss  Kirkman's 
whole  manner  indicated  bustle  and  hurry.  Even 
her  attire  showed  it.  She  was  a  plump  woman, 
aged,  one  would  say  about  thirty.  Her  hair  was 
brown  and  her  eyes  a  steely  grey — not  a  bad  face, 
but  one  too  shrewd  and  aggressive  perhaps  for  a 
woman.  One  might  have  looked  at  her  for  a 
long  time  and  never  suspected  the  truth,  that  she 
was  allied  to  the  colored  race.  Neither  features, 
hair  nor  complexion  showed  it,  but  then  "col 
ored  "  is  such  an  elastic  word,  and  Miss  Kirkman 
in  reality  was  colored  "for  revenue  only."  She 
found  it  more  profitable  to  ally  herself  to  the  less 
important  race  because  she  could  assume  a  posi 
tion  among  them  as  a  representative  woman, 
which  she  could  never  have  hoped  to  gain  among 
the  whites.  So  she  was  colored,  and,  without 
having  any  sympathy  with  the  people  whom  she 
represented,  spoke  for  them  and  uttered  what  was 
supposed  by  the  powers  to  be  the  thoughts  that 
were  in  their  breasts. 

"Well,  from  the  way  you're  tossing  the  papers 


320  A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE 

in  that  bag  I  know  you've  got  some  news  for 
me." 

"  Yes,  I  have,  but  I  don't  know  how  important 
you'll  think  it  is.  Here  we  are !  "  She  drew  forth 
a  paper  and  glanced  at  it. 

"It's  just  a  memorandum,  a  list  of  names  of  a 
few  men  who  need  watching.  The  Afro-Amer 
ican  convention  is  to  meet  on  the  22d;  that's 
Thursday  of  next  week.  Bishop  Carter  is  to  pre 
side.  The  thing  has  resolved  itself  into  a  fight 
between  those  who  are  office-holders  and  those 
who  want  to  be." 

"Yes,  well  what's  the  convention  going  to 
do?" 

"They're  going  to  denounce  the  administra 
tion." 

"Hem,  well  in  your  judgment,  what  will  that 
amount  to,  Miss  Kirkman  ?  " 

"  They  are  the  representative  talking  men  from 
all  sections  of  the  country,  and  they  have  their  fol 
lowing,  and  so  there's  no  use  disputing  that  they 
can  do  some  harm." 

"  Hum,  what  are  they  going  to  denounce  the 
administration  for  ?  " 

"Oh,  there's  a  spirit  of  general  discontent, 
and  they've  got  to  denounce  something,  so  it 


A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE  321 

had  as  well  be  the  administration  as  anything 
else." 

There  was  a  new  gleam  in  Mr.  Hamilton's  eye 
that  was  not  one  of  pleasure  as  he  asked,  "  Who 
are  the  leaders  in  this  movement?" 

"  That's  just  what  I  brought  this  list  for. 
There's  Courtney,  editor  of  the  New  York  Beacon, 
who  is  rabid;  there's  Jones  of  Georgia,  Gray  of 
Ohio- 

"Whew,"  whistled  the  boss,  "Gray  of  Ohio, 
why  he's  on  the  inside." 

"Yes,  and  I  can't  see  what's  the  matter  with 
him,  he's  got  his  position,  and  he  ought  to  keep 
his  mouth  shut." 

"Oh,  there  are  ways  of  applying  the  screw. 
Go  on." 

"Then,  too,  there's  Shackelford  of  Mississippi, 
Duncan  of  South  Carolina,  Stowell  of  Kentucky, 
and  a  lot  of  smaller  fry  who  are  not  worth  men 
tioning." 

"  Are  they  organized  ?" 

"  Yes,  Courtney  has  seen  to  that,  the  forces  are 
compact." 

"  We  must  split  them.     How  is  the  bishop  ?" 

"Neutral." 

"Any  influence?" 


322  A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE 

"Lots  of  it." 

"  How's  your  young  man,  the  one  for  whom 
you've  been  soliciting  a  place— what's  his  name  ?  " 

Miss  Kirkman  did  her  womanhood  the  credit 
of  blushing,  "Joseph  Aldrich,  you  mean.  You 
can  trust  to  me  to  see  that  he's  on  the  right 
side." 

"  Happy  is  the  man  who  has  the  right  woman 
to  boss  him,  and  who  has  sense  enough  to  be 
bossed  by  her;  his  path  shall  be  a  path  of  roses, 
and  his  bed  a  flowery  bed  of  ease.  Now  to  busi 
ness.  They  must  not  denounce  the  administra 
tion.  What  are  the  conditions  of  membership  in 
this  convention  ?  " 

"  Any  one  may  be  present,  but  it  costs  a  fee  of 
five  dollars  for  the  privilege  of  the  floor." 

Mr.  Hamilton  turned  to  the  desk  and  made  out 
a  check.  He  handed  it  to  Miss  Kirkman,  saying, 
"Cash  this,  and  pack  that  convention  for  the  ad 
ministration.  I  look  to  you  and  the  people  you 
may  have  behind  you  to  check  any  rash  resolu 
tions  they  may  attempt  to  pass.  I  want  you  to 
be  there  every  day  and  take  notes  of  the  speeches 
made,  and  their  character  and  tenor.  I  shall  have 
Mr.  Richardson  there  also  to  help  you.  The  rec 
ord  of  each  man's  speech  will  be  sent  to  his  cen- 


A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE  323 

tral  committee,  and  we  shall  know  how  to  treat 
him  in  the  future.  You  know,  Miss  Kirkman,  it 
is  our  method  to  help  our  friends  and  to  crush 
our  enemies.  I  shall  depend  upon  you  to  let  me 
know  which  is  which.  Good-morning." 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Hamilton.'' 

"And,  oh,  Miss  Kirkman,  just  a  moment. 
Frank,"  the  secretary  came  in,  "bring  me  that 
jewel  case  out  of  the  safe.  Here,  Miss  Kirkman, 
Mrs.  Hamilton  told  me  if  you  came  in  to  ask  if 
you  would  mind  running  past  the  safety  deposit 
vaults  and  putting  these  in  for  her  ?  " 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Miss  Kirkman. 

This  was  one  of  the  ways  in  which  Miss  Kirk 
man  was  made  to  remember  her  race.  And  the 
relation  to  that  race,  which  nothing  in  her  face 
showed,  came  out  strongly  in  her  willingness  thus 
to  serve.  The  confidence  itself  flattered  her,  and 
she  was  never  tired  of  telling  her  acquaintances 
how  she  had  put  such  and  such  a  senator's  wife's 
jewels  away,  or  got  a  servant  for  a  cabinet  min 
ister. 

When  her  other  duties  were  done  she  went 
directly  to  a  small  dingy  office  building  and  en 
tered  a  room,  over  which  was  the  sign,  "Joseph 
Aldrich,  Counselor  and  Attorney  at  Law." 


324  A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE 

"How  do,  Joe." 

"  Why,  Miss  Kirkman,  I'm  glad  to  see  you," 
said  Mr.  Aldrich,  coming  forward  to  meet  her 
and  setting  a  chair.  He  was  a  slender  young 
man,  of  a  complexion  which  among  the  varying 
shades  bestowed  among  colored  people  is  termed 
a  light  brown  skin.  A  mustache  and  a  short 
Vandyke  beard  partially  covered  a  mouth  inclined 
to  weakness.  Looking  at  them,  an  observer 
would  have  said  that  Miss  Kirkman  was  the 
stronger  man  of  the  two. 

"What  brings  you  out  this  way  to-day?" 
questioned  Aldrich. 

"  I'll  tell  you.  You've  asked  me  to  marry  you, 
haven't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  I'm  going  to  do  it." 

"Annie,  you  make  me  too  happy." 

*  That's  enough,"  said  Miss  Kirkman,  waving 
him  away.  "We  haven't  any  time  for  romance 
now.  I  mean  business.  You're  going  to  the 
convention  next  week." 

"Yes." 

"  And  you're  going  to  speak  ?  " 

"Of  course." 

"  That's  right.     Let  me  see  your  speech." 


A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE  325 

He  drew  a  typewritten  manuscript  from  the 
drawer  and  handed  it  to  her.  She  ran  her  eyes 
over  the  pages,  murmuring  to  herself.  "  Uh, 
huh,  '  wavering,  weak,  vacillating  adminstration, 
have  not  given  us  the  protection  our  rights  as 
citizens  demanded — while  our  brothers  were 
murdered  in  the  South.  Nero  fiddled  while 
Rome  burned,  while  this  modern ' — uh,  huh, 
oh,  yes,  just  as  I  thought,"  and  with  a  sudden 
twist  Miss  Kirkman  tore  the  papers  across  and 
pitched  them  into  the  grate. 

"Miss  Kirkman — Annie,  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean  that  if  you're  going  to  marry  me,  I'm 
not  going  to  let  you  go  to  the  convention  and 
kill  yourself." 

"  But  my  convictions " 

"  Look  here,  don't  talk  to  me  about  convic 
tions.  The  colored  man  is  the  under  dog,  and 
the  under  dog  has  no  right  to  have  convictions. 
Listen,  you're  going  to  the  convention  next  week 
and  you're  going  to  make  a  speech,  but  it  won't 
be  that  speech.  I  have  just  come  from  Mr.  Ham 
ilton's.  That  convention  is  to  be  watched  closely. 
He  is  to  have  his  people  there  and  they  are  to 
take  down  the  words  of  every  man  who  talks, 
and  these  words  will  be  sent  to  his  central  com- 


326  A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE 

mittee.  The  man  who  goes  there  with  an  im 
prudent  tongue  goes  down.  You'd  better  get  to 
work  and  see  if  you  can't  think  of  something 
good  the  administration  has  done  and  dwell  on 
that." 

"Whew!" 

"Well,  I'm  off." 

"  But  Annie,  about  the  wedding?" 

"Good-morning,  we'll  talk  about  the  wedding 
after  the  convention." 

The  door  closed  on  her  last  words,  and  Joseph 
Aldrich  sat  there  wondering  and  dazed  at  her 
manner.  Then  he  began  to  think  about  the  ad 
ministration.  There  must  be  some  good  things 
to  say  for  it,  and  he  would  find  them.  Yes, 
Annie  was  right— and  wasn't  she  a  hustler 
though  ? 

PART  II 

IT  was  on  the  morning  of  the  22d  and  near 
nine  o'clock,  the  hour  at  which  the  convention 
was  to  be  called  to  order.  But  Mr.  Gray  of  Ohio 
had  not  yet  gone  in.  He  stood  at  the  door  of 
the  convention  hall  in  deep  converse  with  an 
other  man.  His  companion  was  a  young  look- 


A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE  327 

ing  sort  of  person.  His  forehead  was  high  and 
his  eyes  were  keen  and  alert.  The  face  was 
mobile  and  the  mouth  nervous.  It  was  the  face 
of  an  enthusiast,  a  man  with  deep  and  intense 
beliefs,  and  the  boldness  or,  perhaps,  rashness  to 
uphold  them. 

"I  tell  you,  Gray,"  he  was  saying,  "it's  an 
outrage,  nothing  less.  Life,  liberty,  and  the  pur 
suit  of  happiness.  Bah!  It's  all  twaddle.  Why, 
we  can't  even  be  secure  in  the  first  two,  how 
can  we  hope  for  the  last  ?  " 

"You're  right,  Elkins,"  said  Gray,  soberly, 
"and  though  I  hold  a  position  under  the  admin 
istration,  when  it  comes  to  a  consideration  of  the 
wrongs  of  my  race,  I  cannot  remain  silent." 

"I  cannot  and  will  not.  I  hold  nothing  from 
them,  and  I  owe  them  nothing.  I  am  only  a 
bookkeeper  in  a  commercial  house,  where  their 
spite  cannot  reach  me,  so  you  may  rest  assured 
that  I  shall  not  bite  my  tongue." 

"Nor  shall  I.  We  shall  all  be  colored  men 
here  together,  and  talk,  I  hope,  freely  one  to  the 
other.  Shall  you  introduce  your  resolution  to 
day  ?  " 

"I  won't  have  a  chance  unless  things  move 
more  rapidly  than  I  expect  them  to.  It  will  have 


A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE 

to  come  up  under  new  business,  I  should 
think." 

"  Hardly.  Get  yourself  appointed  on  the  com 
mittee  on  resolutions." 

"  Good,  but  how  can  I  ?  " 

"I'll  see  to  that;  I  know  the  bishop  pretty 
well.  Ah,  good-morning,  Miss  Kirkman.  How 
do  you  do,  Aldrich?"  Gray  pursued,  turning  to 
the  newcomers,  who  returned  his  greeting,  and 
passed  into  the  hall. 

"That's  Miss  Kirkman.  You've  heard  of  her. 
She  fetches  and  carries  for  Luther  Hamilton  and 
his  colleagues,  and  has  been  suspected  of  doing 
some  spying,  also." 

"Who  was  that  with  her ? " 

"  Oh,  that's  her  man  Friday;  otherwise  Joseph 
Aldrich  by  name,  a  fellow  she's  trying  to  make 
something  of  before  she  marries  him.  She's  got 
the  pull  to  do  it,  too." 

"  Why  don't  you  turn  them  down  ?" 

"Ah,  my  boy,  you're  young,  you're  young; 
you  show  it.  Don't  you  know  that  a  wind 
strong  enough  to  uproot  an  oak  only  ripples  the 
leaves  of  a  creeper  against  the  wall  ?  Outside  of 
the  race  that  woman  is  really  considered  one  of 
the  leaders,  and  she  trades  upon  the  fact." 


A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE  329 

"  But  why  do  you  allow  this  base  deception 
to  go  ?  " 

"Because,  Elkins,  my  child,"  Gray  put  his 
hand  on  the  other's  shoulder  with  mock  tender 
ness,  "because  these  seemingly  sagacious  whites 
among  whom  we  live  are  really  a  very  credulous 
people,  and  the  first  one  who  goes  to  them  with 
a  good  front  and  says  '  Look  here,  I  am  the  leader 
of  the  colored  people;  I  am  their  oracle  and 
prophet,'  they  immediately  exalt  and  say  'That's 
so.'  Now  do  you  see  why  Miss  Kirkman  has  a 
pull?" 

"I  see,  but  come  on,  let's  go  in;  there  goes 
the  gavel." 

The  convention  hall  was  already  crowded,  and 
the  air  was  full  of  the  bustle  of  settling  down. 
When  the  time  came  for  the  payment  of  their 
fees,  by  those  who  wanted  the  privilege  of  the 
floor,  there  was  a  perfect  rush  for  the  secretary's 
desk.  Bank  notes  fluttered  everywhere.  Miss 
Kirkman  had  on  a  suspiciously  new  dress  and 
bonnet,  but  she  had  done  her  work  well,  never 
theless.  She  looked  up  into  the  gallery  in  a  cor 
ner  that  overlooked  the  stage  and  caught  the  eye 
of  a  young  man  who  sat  there  notebook  in  hand. 
He  smiled,  and  she  smiled.  Then  she  looked 


330  A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE 

over  at  Mr.  Aldrich,  who  was  not  sitting  with 
her,  and  they  both  smiled  complacently.  There's 
nothing  like  being  on  the  inside. 

After  the  appointment  of  committees,  the 
genial  bishop  began  his  opening  address,  and  a 
very  careful,  pretty  address  it  was,  too — well 
worded,  well  balanced,  dealing  in  broad  gener 
alities  and  studiously  saying  nothing  that  would 
indicate  that  he  had  any  intention  of  directing  the 
policy  of  the  meetings.  Of  course  it  brought 
forth  all  the  applause  that  a  bishop's  address  de 
serves,  and  the  ladies  in  the  back  seats  fluttered 
their  fans,  and  said:  "The  dear  man,  how  elo 
quent  he  is." 

Gray  had  succeeded  in  getting  Elkins  placed 
on  the  committee  on  resolutions,  but  when  they 
came  to  report,  the  fiery  resolution  denouncing 
the  administration  for  its  policy  toward  the  negro 
was  laid  on  the  table.  The  young  man  had 
succeeded  in  engineering  it  through  the  com 
mittee,  but  the  chairman  decided  that  its  proper 
place  was  under  the  head  of  new  business,  where 
it  might  be  taken  up  in  the  discussion  of  the  ad 
ministration's  attitude  toward  the  negro. 

"We  are  here,  gentlemen,"  pursued  the  bland 
presiding  officer,  "to  make  public  sentiment,  but 


THE    BISHOP  S    ADDRESS. 


A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE  331 

we  must  not  try  to  make  it  too  fast;  so  if  our 
young  friend  from  Ohio  will  only  hold  his  reso 
lution  a  little  longer,  it  will  be  acted  upon  at  the 
proper  time.  We  must  be  moderate  and  con 
servative." 

Gray  sprang  to  his  feet  and  got  the  chairman's 
eye.  His  face  was  flushed  and  he  almost  shouted : 
"  Conservatism  be  hanged!  We  have  rolled  that 
word  under  our  tongues  when  we  were  being 
trampled  upon;  we  have  preached  it  in  our 
churches  when  we  were  being  shot  down;  we 
have  taught  it  in  our  schools  when  the  right  to 
use  our  learning  was  denied  us,  until  the  very 
word  has  come  to  be  a  reproach  upon  a  black 
man's  tongue! " 

There  were  cries  of  " Order!  Order!"  and 
"Sit  down!"  and  the  gavel  was  rattling  on  the 
chairman's  desk.  Then  some  one  rose  to  a  point 
of  order,  so  dear  to  the  heart  of  the  negro  de 
bater.  The  point  was  sustained  and  the  Ohioan 
yielded  the  floor,  but  not  until  he  had  gazed 
straight  into  the  eyes  of  Miss  Kirkman  as  they 
rose  from  her  notebook.  She  turned  red.  He 
curled  his  lip  and  sat  down,  but  the  blood  burned 
in  his  face,  and  it  was  not  the  heat  of  shame,  but 
of  anger  and  contempt  that  flushed  his  cheeks. 


332  A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE 

This  outbreak  was  but  the  precursor  of  other 
storms  to  follow.  Every  one  had  come  with  an 
idea  to  exploit  or  some  proposition  to  advance. 
Each  one  had  his  panacea  for  all  the  aches  and 
pains  of  his  race.  Each  man  who  had  paid  his 
five  dollars  wanted  his  full  five  dollars'  worth  of 
talk.  The  chairman  allowed  them  five  minutes 
apiece,  and  they  thought  time  dear  at  a  dollar  a 
minute.  But  there  were  speeches  to  be  made 
for  buncombe,  and  they  made  the  best  of  the  sec 
onds.  They  howled,  they  raged,  they  stormed. 
They  waxed  eloquent  or  pathetic.  Jones  of 
Georgia  was  swearing  softly  and  feelingly  into 
Shackelford's  ear.  Shackelford  was  sympathetic 
and  nervous  as  he  fingered  a  large  bundle  of 
manuscript  in  his  back  pocket.  He  got  up  sev 
eral  times  and  called  "Mr.  Chairman,"  but  his 
voice  had  been  drowned  in  the  tumult.  Amid  it 
all,  calm  and  impassive,  sat  the  man,  who  of  all 
others  was  expected  to  be  in  the  heat  of  the  fray. 

It  had  been  rumored  that  Courtney  of  the  New 
York  Beacon  had  come  to  Washington  with  blood 
in  his  eyes.  But  there  he  sat,  silent  and  un 
moved,  his  swarthy,  eagle-like  face,  with  its 
frame  of  iron-grey  hair  as  unchanging  as  if  he 
had  never  had  a  passionate  thought. 


A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE  333 

"I  don't  like  Jim  Courtney's  silence,"  whis 
pered  Stowell  to  a  colleague.  "  There's  never  so 
much  devil  in  him  as  when  he  keeps  still.  You 
look  out  for  him  when  he  does  open  up." 

But  all  the  details  of  the  convention  do  not 
belong  to  this  narrative.  It  is  hardly  relevant, 
even,  to  tell  how  Stowell's  prediction  came  true, 
and  at  the  second  day's  meeting  Courtney's  calm 
gave  way,  and  he  delivered  one  of  the  bitterest 
speeches  of  his  life.  It  was  in  the  morning,  and 
he  was  down  for  a  set  speech  on  "The  Negro  in 
the  Higher  Walks  of  Life."  He  started  calmly, 
but  as  he  progressed,  the  memory  of  all  the 
wrongs,  personal  and  racial  that  he  had  suffered; 
the  knowledge  of  the  disabilities  that  he  and  his 
brethren  had  to  suffer,  and  the  vision  of  toil 
unrequited,  love  rejected,  and  loyalty  ignored, 
swept  him  off  his  feet.  He  forgot  his  subject, 
forgot  everything  but  that  he  was  a  crushed  man 
in  a  crushed  race. 

The  auditors  held  their  breath,  and  the  report 
ers  wrote  much. 

Turning  to  them  he  said,  "And  to  the  press 
of  Washington,  to  whom  I  have  before  paid  my 
respects,  let  me  say  that  I  am  not  afraid  to  have 
them  take  any  word  that  I  may  say.  I  came 


334  A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE 

here  to  meet  them  on  their  own  ground.  I  will 
meet  them  with  pen.  I  will  meet  them  with 
pistol,"  and  then  raising  his  tall,  spare  form,  he 
shouted,  "  Yes,  even  though  there  is  but  one 
hundred  and  thirty-five  pounds  of  me,  1  will 
meet  them  with  my  fists!  " 

This  was  all  very  rash  of  Courtney.  His  paper 
did  not  circulate  largely,  so  his  real  speech,  which 
he  printed,  was  not  widely  read,  while  through 
the  columns  of  the  local  press,  a  garbled  and  dis 
torted  version  of  it  went  to  every  corner  of  the 
country.  Purposely  distorted  ?  Who  shall  say  ? 
He  had  insulted  the  press;  and  then  Mr.  Hamil 
ton  was  a  very  wealthy  man. 

When  the  time  for  the  consideration  of  Elkins' 
resolution  came,  Courtney,  Jones  and  Shackel- 
ford  threw  themselves  body  and  soul  into  the 
fight  with  Gray  and  its  author.  There  was  a 
formidable  array  against  them.  All  the  men  in 
office,  and  all  of  those  who  had  received  even  a 
crumb  of  promise  were  for  buttering  over  their 
wrongs,  and  making  their  address  to  the  public 
a  prophecy  of  better  things. 

Jones  suggested  that  they  send  an  apology  to 
lynchers  for  having  negroes  where  they  could  be 
lynched.  This  called  for  reproof  from  the  other 


A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE  335 

side,  and  the  discussion  grew  hot  and  acrimoni 
ous.  Gray  again  got  the  floor,  and  surprised  his 
colleagues  by  the  plainness  of  his  utterances. 
Elkins  followed  him  with  a  biting  speech  that 
brought  Aldrich  to  his  feet. 

Mr.  Aldrich  had  chosen  well  his  time,  and  had 
carefully  prepared  his  speech.  He  recited  all  the 
good  things  that  the  administration  had  done, 
hoped  to  do,  tried  to  do,  or  wanted  to  do,  and 
showed  what  a  very  respectable  array  it  was. 
He  counseled  moderation  and  conservatism,  and 
his  peroration  was  a  flowery  panegyric  of  the 
"noble  man  whose  hand  is  on  the  helm,  guiding 
the  grand  old  ship  of  state  into  safe  harbor." 

The  office-holders  went  wild  with  enthusiasm. 
No  self-interest  there.  The  opposition  could  not 
argue  that  this  speech  was  made  to  keep  a  job, 
because  the  speaker  had  none.  Then  Jim  Court 
ney  got  up  and  spoiled  it  all  by  saying  that  it 
may  be  that  the  speaker  had  no  job  but  wanted 
one. 

Aldrich  was  not  moved.  He  saw  a  fat  salary 
and  Annie  Kirkman  for  him  in  the  near  future. 

The  young  lady  had  done  her  work  well,  and 
when  the  resolution  came  to  a  vote  it  was  lost 
by  a  good  majority.  Aldrich  was  again  on  his 


336  A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE 

feet  and  offering  another.  The  forces  of  the 
opposition  were  discouraged  and  disorganized, 
and  they  made  no  effort  to  stop  it  when  the 
rules  were  suspended,  and  it  went  through  on 
the  first  reading.  Then  the  convention  shouted, 
that  is,  part  of  it  did,  and  Miss  Kirkman  closed 
her  notebook  and  glanced  up  at  the  gallery  again. 
The  young  man  had  closed  his  book  also.  Their 
work  was  done.  The  administration  had  not 
been  denounced,  and  they  had  their  black-list  for 
Mr.  Hamilton's  knife. 

There  were  some  more  speeches  made,  just  so 
that  the  talkers  should  get  their  money's  worth; 
but  for  the  masses,  the  convention  had  lost  its 
interest,  and  after  a  few  feeble  attempts  to  stir  it 
into  life  again,  a  motion  to  adjourn  was  enter 
tained.  But,  before  a  second  appeared,  Elkins 
arose  and  asked  leave  to  make  a  statement.  It 
was  granted. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "we  have  all  heard  the 
resolution  which  goes  to  the  public  as  the  opin 
ion  of  the  negroes  of  the  country.  There  are 
some  of  us  who  do  not  believe  that  this  ex 
presses  the  feelings  of  our  race,  and  to  us  who 
believe  this,  Mr.  Courtney  has  given  the  use  of 
his  press  in  New  York,  and  we  shall  print  our 


A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE  337 

resolution  and  scatter  it  broadcast  as  the  minority 
report  of  this  convention,  but  the  majority  report 
of  the  race." 

Miss  Kirkman  opened  her  book  again  for  a 
few  minutes,  and  then  the  convention  adjourned. 


"I  wish  you'd  find  out,  Miss  Kirkman,"  said 
Hamilton  a  couple  of  days  later,  "just  what  firm 
that  young  Elkins  works  for." 

"I  have  already  done  that.  I  thought  you'd 
want  to  know,"  and  she  handed  him  a  card. 

"Ah,  yes,"  he  said.  "I  have  some  business 
relations  with  that  firm.  I  know  them  very  well. 
Miss  Anderson,"  he  called  to  his  stenographer, 
"will  you  kindly  take  a  letter  for  me.  By  the 
way,  Miss  Kirkman,  I  have  placed  Mr.  Aldrich. 
He  will  have  his  appointment  in  a  few  days." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Mr.  Hamilton;  is  there  any 
thing  more  I  can  do  for  you?" 

"Nothing.     Good-morning." 

"  Good-morning." 

A  week  later  in  his  Ohio  home  William  Elkins 
was  surprised  to  be  notified  by  his  employers 
that  they  were  cutting  down  forces,  and  would 
need  his  services  no  longer.  He  wrote  at  once 


338  A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE 

to  his  friend  Gray  to  know  if  there  was  any 
chance  for  him  in  Washington,  and  received 
the  answer  that  Gray  could  hardly  hold  his  own, 
as  great  pressure  was  being  put  upon  him  to 
force  him  to  resign. 

"I  think,"  wrote  Gray,  "that  the  same  hand 
is  at  the  bottom  of  all  our  misfortunes.  This  is 
Hamilton's  method." 

Miss  Kirkman  and  Mr.  Aldrich  were  married 
two  weeks  from  the  day  the  convention  ad 
journed.  Mr.  Gray  was  removed  from  his  posi 
tion  on  account  of  inefficiency.  He  is  still  trying 
to  get  back,  but  the  very  men  to  whom  his  case 
must  go  are  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Hamilton. 


SILAS  JACKSON 


339 


SILAS  JACKSON 


SILAS  JACKSON  was  a  young  man  to  whom 
many  opportunities  had  come.  Had  he  been  a 
less  fortunate  boy,  as  his  little  world  looked  at 
it,  he  might  have  spent  all  his  days  on  the  little 
farm  where  he  was  born,  much  as  many  of  his 
fellows  did.  But  no,  Fortune  had  marked  him 
for  her  own,  and  it  was  destined  that  he  should 
be  known  to  fame.  He  was  to  know  a  broader 
field  than  the  few  acres  which  he  and  his  father 
worked  together,  and  where  he  and  several 
brothers  and  sisters  had  spent  their  youth. 

Mr.  Harold  Marston  was  the  instrument  of 
Fate  in  giving  Silas  his  first  introduction  to  the 
world.  Marston,  who  prided  himself  on  being, 
besides  a  man  of  leisure,  something  of  a  sports 
man,  was  shooting  over  the  fields  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  Jackson  farm.  During  the  week  he  spent 
in  the  region,  needing  the  services  of  a  likely 
boy,  he  came  to  know  and  like  Silas.  Upon 


SILAS   JACKSON 

leaving,  he  said,  "  It's  a  pity  for  a  boy  as  bright 
as  you  are  to  be  tied  down  in  this  God-forsaken 
place.  How'd  you  like  to  go  up  to  the  Springs, 
Si,  and  work  in  a  hotel  ?  " 

The  very  thought  of  going  to  such  a  place, 
and  to  such  work,  fired  the  boy's  imagination, 
although  the  idea  of  it  daunted  him. 

"I'd  like  it  powahful  well,  Mistah  Ma'ston,"  he 
replied. 

"Well,  I'm  going  up  there,  and  the  proprietor 
of  one  of  the  best  hotels,  the  Fountain  House,  is 
a  very  good  friend  of  mine,  and  I'll  get  him  to 
speak  to  his  head  waiter  in  your  behalf.  You 
want  to  get  out  of  here,  and  see  something  of 
the  world,  and  not  stay  cooped  up  with  nothing 
livelier  than  rabbits,  squirrels,  and  quail." 

And  so  the  work  was  done.  The  black  boy's 
ambitions  that  had  only  needed  an  encouraging 
word  had  awakened  into  buoyant  life.  He 
looked  his  destiny  squarely  in  the  face,  and  saw 
that  the  great  world  outside  beckoned  to  him. 
From  that  time  his  dreams  were  eagle-winged. 
The  farm  looked  narrower  to  him,  the  cabin 
meaner,  and  the  clods  were  harder  to  his  feet. 
He  learned  to  hate  the  plough  that  he  had  fol 
lowed  before  in  dumb  content,  and  there  was  no 


SILAS  JACKSON  .543 

longer  joy  in  the  woods  he  knew  and  loved. 
Once,  out  of  pure  joy  of  living,  he  had  gone  sing 
ing  about  his  work;  but  now,  when  he  sang,  it 
was  because  his  heart  was  longing  for  the  city 
of  his  dreams,  and  hope  inspired  the  song. 

However,  after  Mr.  Marston  had  been  gone  for 
over  two  weeks,  and  nothing  had  been  heard 
from  the  Springs,  the  hope  died  in  Silas's  heart, 
and  he  came  to  believe  that  his  benefactor  had 
forgotten  him.  And  yet  he  could  not  return  to 
the  old  contentment  with  his  mode  of  life.  Mr. 
Marston  was  right,  and  he  was  "cooped  up 
there  with  nothing  better  than  rabbits,  squirrels, 
and  quail."  The  idea  had  never  occurred  to  him 
before,  but  now  it  struck  him  with  disconcerting 
force  that  there  was  something  in  him  above  his 
surroundings  and  the  labor  at  which  he  toiled  day 
by  day.  He  began  to  see  that  the  cabin  was  not 
over  clean,  and  for  the  first  time  recognized  that 
his  brothers  and  sisters  were  positively  dirty. 
He  had  always  looked  on  it  with  unconscious 
eyes  before,  but  now  he  suddenly  developed  the 
capacity  for  disgust. 

When  young  'Lishy,  noticing  his  brother's 
moroseness,  attributed  it  to  his  strong  feeling  for 
a  certain  damsel,  Silas  turned  on  him  in  a  fury. 


344  SILAS  JACKSON 

Ambition  had  even  driven  out  all  other  feelings, 
and  Dely  Manly  seemed  poor  and  commonplace 
to  the  dark  swain,  who  a  month  before  would 
have  gone  any  length  to  gain  a  smile  from  her. 
He  compared  everything  and  everybody  to  the 
glory  of  what  he  dreamed  the  Springs  and  its  in 
habitants  to  be,  and  all  seemed  cheap  beside. 

Then  on  a  day  when  his  spirits  were  at  their 
lowest  ebb,  a  passing  neighbor  handed  him  a 
letter  which  he  had  found  at  the  little  village 
post  office.  It  was  addressed  to  Mr.  Si  Jackson, 
and  bore  the  Springs  postmark.  Silas  was  im 
mediately  converted  from  a  raw  backwoods  boy 
to  a  man  of  the  world.  Save  the  little  notes  that 
had  been  passed  back  and  forth  from  boy  to  girl 
at  the  little  log  schoolhouse  where  he  had  gone 
four  fitful  sessions,  this  was  his  first  letter,  and 
it  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  been  addressed 
as  "  Mr."  He  swelled  with  a  pride  that  he  could 
not  conceal,  as  with  trembling  hands  he  tore  the 
missive  open. 

He  read  it  through  with  glowing  eyes  and  a 
growing  sense  of  his  own  importance.  It  was 
from  the  head  waiter  whom  Mr.  Marston  had 
mentioned,  and  was  couched  in  the  most  elegant 
and  high-sounding  language.  It  said  that  Mr. 


HIS    HROTHKR    AM)    SISTER. 


SILAS  JACKSON  345 

Marston  had  spoken  for  Silas,  and  that  if  he  came 
to  the  Springs,  and  was  quick  to  learn,  "to  ac 
quire  knowledge,"  was  the  head  waiter's  phrase, 
a  situation  would  be  provided  for  him.  The 
family  gathered  around  the  fortunate  son,  and 
gazed  on  him  with  awe  when  he  imparted  the 
good  news.  He  became,  on  the  instant,  a  new 
being  to  them.  It  was  as  if  he  had  only  been 
loaned  to  them,  and  was  now  being  lifted  bodily 
out  of  their  world. 

The  elder  Jackson  was  a  bit  doubtful  about  the 
matter. 

"Of  co'se  ef  you  wants  to  go,  Silas,  I  ain't 
a-gwine  to  gainsay  you,  an'  I  hope  it's  all  right, 
but  sence  freedom  dis  hyeah  piece  o'  groun's 
been  good  enough  fu'  me,  an'  I  reckon  you 
mought  a'  got  erlong  on  it." 

"But  pap,  you  see  it's  diff'ent  now.  It's  difT- 
ent,  all  I  wanted  was  a  chanst." 

"Well,  I  reckon  you  got  it,  Si,  I  reckon  you 
got  it." 

The  younger  children  whispered  long  after 
they  had  gone  to  bed  that  night,  wondering  and 
guessing  what  the  great  place  to  which  brother 
Si  was  going  could  be  like,  and  they  could  only 
picture  it  as  like  the  great  white-domed  city 


346  SILAS  JACKSON 

whose  picture  they  had  seen  in  the  gaudy  Bible 
foisted  upon  them  by  a  passing  agent. 

As  for  Silas,  he  read  and  reread  the  letter  by 
the  light  of  a  tallow  dip  until  he  was  too  sleepy 
to  see,  and  every  word  was  graven  on  his  mem 
ory;  then  he  went  to  bed  with  the  precious 
paper  under  his  pillow.  In  spite  of  his  drowsi 
ness,  he  lay  awake  for  some  time,  gazing  with 
heavy  eyes  into  the  darkness,  where  he  saw  the 
great  city  and  his  future;  then  he  went  to  sleep 
to  dream  of  it. 

From  then  on,  great  were  the  preparations  for 
the  boy's  departure.  So  little  happened  in  that 
vicinity  that  the  matter  became  a  neighborhood 
event,  and  the  black  folk  for  three  miles  up  and 
down  the  road  manifested  their  interest  in  Silas's 
good  fortune. 

"I  hyeah  you  gwine  up  to  de  Springs,"  said 
old  Hiram  Jones,  when  he  met  the  boy  on  the 
road  a  day  or  two  before  his  departure. 

"Yes,  suh,  I's  gwine  up  thaih  to  wo'k  in  a 
hotel.  Mistah  Ma'ston,  he  got  me  the  job." 

The  old  man  reined  in  his  horse  slowly,  and 
deposited  the  liquid  increase  of  a  quid  of  tobacco 
before  he  said;  "I  hyeah  tell  it's  powahful 
wicked  up  in  dem  big  cities." 


SILAS   JACKSON  347 

"Oh,  I  reckon  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  do  nuffm 
wrong.  I's  goin'  thaih  to  wo'k." 

"Well,  you  has  been  riz  right,"  commented 
the  old  man  doubtfully,  "but  den,  boys  will  be 
boys." 

He  drove  on,  and  the  prospect  of  a  near  view 
of  wickedness  did  not  make  the  Springs  less  de 
sirable  in  the  boy's  eyes.  Raised  as  he  had  been, 
almost  away  from  civilization,  he  hardly  knew 
the  meaning  of  what  the  world  called  wicked 
ness.  Not  that  he  was  strong  or  good.  There 
had  been  no  occasion  for  either  quality  to  develop ; 
but  that  he  was  simple  and  primitive,  and  had 
been  close  to  what  was  natural  and  elemental. 
His  faults  and  sins  were  those  of  the  gentle  bar 
barian.  He  had  not  yet  learned  the  subtler  vices 
of  a  higher  civilization. 

Silas,  however,  was  not  without  the  pride  of 
his  kind,  and  although  his  father  protested  that 
it  was  a  useless  extravagance,  he  insisted  upon 
going  to  the  nearest  village  and  investing  part 
of  his  small  savings  in  a  new  suit  of  clothes.  It 
was  quaint  and  peculiar  apparel,  but  it  was  the 
boy's  first  "  store  suit,"  and  it  filled  him  with  un 
speakable  joy.  His  brothers  and  sisters  regarded 
his  new  magnificence  with  envying  admiration. 


348  SILAS  JACKSON 

It  would  be  a  long  while  before  they  got  away 
from  bagging,  homespun,  and  copperas-colored 
cotton,  whacked  out  into  some  semblance  of 
garments  by  their  "mammy."  And  so,  armed 
with  a  light  bundle,  in  which  were  his  few  other 
belongings,  and  fearfully  and  wonderfully  arrayed, 
Silas  Jackson  set  out  for  the  Springs.  His  father's 
parting  injunctions  were  ringing  in  his  ears,  and 
the  memory  of  his  mammy's  wet  eyes  and  sad 
face  lingered  in  his  memory.  She  had  wanted 
him  to  take  the  gaudy  Bible  away,  but  it  was  too 
heavy  to  carry,  especially  as  he  was  to  walk  the 
whole  thirty  miles  to  the  land  of  promise.  At 
the  last,  his  feeling  of  exaltation  gave  way  to  one 
of  sorrow,  and  as  he  went  down  the  road,  he 
turned  often  to  look  at  the  cabin,  until  it  faded 
from  sight  around  the  bend.  Then  a  lump  rose 
in  his  throat,  and  he  felt  like  turning  and  running 
back  to  it.  He  had  never  thought  the  old  place 
could  seem  so  dear.  But  he  kept  his  face  steadily 
forward  and  trudged  on  toward  his  destiny. 

The  Springs  was  the  fashionable  resort  of  Vir 
ginia,  where  the  aristocrats  who  thought  they 
were  ill  went  to  recover  their  health  and  to  dance. 
Compared  with  large  cities  of  the  North,  it  was 
but  a  small  town,  even  including  the  transient 


SILAS   JACKSON  349 

population,  but  in  the  eyes  of  the  rural  blacks  and 
the  poor  whites  of  the  region,  it  was  a  place  of 
large  importance. 

Hither,  on  the  morning  after  his  departure  from 
the  home  gate,  came  Silas  Jackson,  a  little  foot 
sore  and  weary,  but  hopeful  withal.  In  spite  of 
the  pains  that  he  had  put  upon  his  dressing,  he 
was  a  quaint  figure  on  the  city  streets.  Many  an 
amused  smile  greeted  him  as  he  went  his  way, 
but  he  saw  them  not.  Inquiring  the  direction, 
he  kept  on,  until  the  many  windows  and  broad 
veranda  of  the  great  hotel  broke  on  his  view,  and 
he  gasped  in  amazement  and  awe  at  the  sight  of 
it,  and  a  sudden  faintness  seized  him.  He  was 
reluctant  to  go  on,  but  the  broad  grins  with 
which  some  colored  men  who  were  working 
about  the  place  regarded  him,  drove  him  forward, 
in  spite  of  his  embarrassment. 

He  found  his  way  to  the  kitchen,  and  asked  in 
trembling  tones  for  the  head  waiter.  Breakfast 
being  over,  that  individual  had  leisure  to  come  to 
the  kitchen.  There,  with  the  grinning  waiters 
about  him,  he  stopped  and  calmly  surveyed  Silas. 
He  was  a  very  pompous  head  waiter. 

Silas  had  never  been  self-conscious  before,  but 
now  he  became  distressfully  aware  of  himself — 


350  SILAS   JACKSON 

of  his  awkwardness,  of  his  clumsy  feet  and 
dangling  hands,  of  the  difference  between  his 
clothes  and  the  clothes  of  the  men  about 
him. 

After  a  survey,  which  seemed  to  the  boy  of 
endless  duration,  the  head  waiter  spoke,  and  his 
tone  was  the  undisputed  child  of  his  looks. 

"I  pussoom,"  said  Mr.  Buckner,  "that  you  are 
the  pusson  Mistah  Ma'ston  spoke  to  the  p'op'ie- 
tor  about  ? " 

"Yes,  suh,  I  reckon  I  is.  He  p'omised  to  git 
me  a  job  up  hyeah,  an'  I  got  yo'  lettah — "  here 
Silas,  who  had  set  his  bundle  on  the  floor  in  com 
ing  into  the  Presence,  began  to  fumble  in  his 
pockets  for  the  letter.  He  searched  long  in  vain, 
because  his  hands  trembled,  and  he  was  nervous 
under  the  eyes  of  this  great  personage  who  stood 
unmoved  and  looked  calmly  at  him. 

Finally  the  missive  was  found  and  produced, 
though  not  before  the  perspiration  was  standing 
thick  on  Silas's  brow.  The  head  waiter  took  the 
sheet. 

"  Ve'y  well,  suh,  ve'y  well.  You  are  evidently 
the  p'oper  pusson,  as  I  reco'nize  this  as  my  own 
chirography." 

The  up-country  boy  stood  in  awed  silence. 


SILAS  JACKSON  351 

He  thought  he  had  never  heard  such  fine  language 
before. 

"  I  ca'culate  that  you  have  nevah  had  no  ex 
perience  in  hotel  work,"  pursued  Mr.  Buckner 
somewhat  more  graciously. 

"I's  nevah  done  nuffin'  but  wo'k  on  a  farm; 
but  evahbody  'lows  I's  right  handy."  The  fear 
that  he  would  be  sent  back  home  without  em 
ployment  gave  him  boldness. 

"I  see,  I  see,"  said  the  head  waiter.  "Well, 
we'll  endeavor  to  try  an'  see  how  soon  you  can 
learn.  Mistah  Smith,  will  you  take  this  young 
man  in  charge,  an'  show  him  how  to  get  about 
things  until  we  are  ready  to  try  him  in  the  dinin'- 
room?" 

A  rather  pleasant-faced  yellow  boy  came  over 
to  Silas  and  showed  him  where  to  put  his  things 
and  what  to  do. 

"I  guess  it'll  be  a  little  strange  at  first,  if 
you've  never  been  a  hotel  man,  but  you'll  ketch 
on.  Just  you  keep  your  eye  on  me." 

All  that  day  as  Silas  blundered  about  slowly 
and  awkwardly,  he  looked  with  wonder  and  ad 
miration  at  the  ease  and  facility  with  which  his 
teacher  and  the  other  men  did  their  work.  They 
were  so  calm,  so  precise,  and  so  self-sufficient. 


352  SILAS  JACKSON 

He  wondered  if  he  would  ever  be  like  them,  and 
felt  very  hopeless  as  the  question  presented  itself 
to  him. 

They  were  a  little  prone  to  laugh  at  him,  but 
he  was  so  humble  and  so  sensible  that  he  thought 
he  must  be  laughable;  so  he  laughed  a  little 
shamefacedly  at  himself,  and  only  tried  the  harder 
to  imitate  his  companions.  Once  when  he 
dropped  a  dish  upon  the  floor,  he  held  his  breath 
in  consternation,  but  when  he  found  that  no  one 
paid  any  attention  to  it,  he  picked  it  up  and  went 
his  way. 

He  was  tired  that  night,  more  tired  than 
ploughing  had  ever  made  him,  and  was  thankful 
when  Smith  proposed  to  show  him  at  once  to  the 
rooms  apportioned  to  the  servants.  Here  he 
sank  down  and  fell  into  a  doze  as  soon  as  his 
companion  left  him  with  the  remark  that  he  had 
some  studying  to  do.  He  found  afterward  that 
Smith  was  only  a  temporary  employee  at  the 
Springs,  coming  there  during  the  vacations  of  the 
school  which  he  attended,  in  order  to  eke  out  the 
amount  which  it  cost  him  for  his  education. 
Silas  thought  this  a  very  wonderful  thing  at  first, 
but  when  he  grew  wiser,  as  he  did  finally,  he 
took  the  point  of  view  of  most  of  his  fellows  and 


SILAS  JACKSON  353 

thought  that  Smith  was  wasting  both  time  and 
opportunities. 

It  took  a  very  short  time  for  Silas's  unfamiliarity 
with  his  surroundings  to  wear  off,  and  for  him  to 
become  acquainted  with  the  duties  of  his  position. 
He  grew  at  ease  with  his  work,  and  became  a 
favorite  both  in  dining-room  and  kitchen.  Then 
began  his  acquaintance  with  other  things,  and 
there  were  many  other  things  at  the  Springs 
which  an  unsophisticated  young  man  might 
learn. 

Silas's  social  attainments  were  lamentably 
sparse,  but  being  an  apt  youngster,  he  began  to 
acquire  them,  quite  as  he  acquired  his  new  duties, 
and  different  forms  of  speech.  He  learned  to 
dance — almost  a  natural  gift  of  the  negro — and  he 
was  introduced  into  the  subtleties  of  flirtation. 
At  first  he  was  a  bit  timid  with  the  nurse-girls 
and  maids  whom  the  wealthy  travelers  brought 
with  them,  but  after  a  few  lessons  from  very 
able  teachers,  he  learned  the  manly  art  of  ogling 
to  his  own  satisfaction,  and  soon  became  as  pro 
ficient  as  any  of  the  other  black  coxcombs. 

If  he  ever  thought  of  Dely  Manly  any  more,  it 
was  with  a  smile  that  he  had  been  able  at  one 
time  to  consider  her  seriously.  The  people  at 


354  SILAS   JACKSON 

home,  be  it  said  to  his  credit,  he  did  not  forget. 
A  part  of  his  wages  went  back  every  month  to 
help  better  the  condition  of  the  cabin.  But  Silas 
himself  had  no  desire  to  return,  and  at  the  end  of 
a  year  he  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  it.  He 
was  quite  willing  to  help  his  father,  whom  he 
had  now  learned  to  call  the  "  old  man,"  but  he 
was  not  willing  to  go  back  to  him. 


II 

EARLY  in  his  second  year  at  the  Springs  Mars- 
ton  came  for  a  stay  at  the  hotel.  When  he  saw 
his  protege,  he  exclaimed:  "Why,  that  isn't  Si, 
is  it?" 

"Yes,  suh,"  smiled  Silas. 

"Well,  well,  well,  what  a  change.  Why, 
boy,  you've  developed  into  a  regular  fashion- 
plate.  I  hope  you're  not  advertising  for  any 
of  the  Richmond  tailors.  They're  terrible  Jews, 
you  know." 

"You  see,  a  man  has  to  be  neat  aroun'  the 
hotel,  Mistah  Ma'ston." 

"Whew,  and  you've  developed  dignity,  too. 
By  the  Lord  Harry,  if  I'd  have  made  that  remark 
to  you  about  a  year  and  a  half  ago,  there  at  the 


SILAS  JACKSON  355 

cabin,  you'd  have  just  grinned.  Ah,  Silas,  I'm 
afraid  for  you.  You've  grown  too  fast.  You've 
gained  a  certain  poise  and  ease  at  the  expense  of 
— of — I  don't  know  what,  but  something  that  I 
liked  better.  Down  there  at  home  you  were  just 
a  plain  darky.  Up  here  you  are  trying  to  be  like 
me,  and  you  are  colored." 

"  Of  co'se,  Mistah  Ma'ston,"  said  Silas  politely, 
but  deprecatingly,  "the  worl' don't  stan' still." 

"  Platitudes — the  last  straw  !  "  exclaimed  Mr. 
Marston  tragically.  "There's  an  old  darky 
preacher  up  at  Richmond  who  says  it  does,  and 
I'm  sure  I  think  more  of  his  old  fog-horn  blasts 
than  I  do  of  your  parrot  tones.  Ah  !  Si,  this  is 
the  last  time  that  I  shall  ever  fool  with  good  raw 
material.  However,  don't  let  this  bother  you. 
As  I  remember,  you  used  to  sing  well.  I'm  go 
ing  to  have  some  of  my  friends  up  at  my  rooms 
to-night ;  get  some  of  the  boys  together,  and 
come  and  sing  for  us.  And  remember,  nothing 
hifalutin;  just  the  same  old  darky  songs  you  used 
to  sing." 

"  All  right,  suh,  we'll  be  up." 

Silas  was  very  glad  to  be  rid  of  his  old  friend, 
and  he  thought  when  Marston  had  gone  that  he 
was,  after  all,  not  such  a  great  man  as  he  had  be- 


356  SILAS   JACKSON 

lieved.  But  the  decline  in  his  estimation  of  Mr. 
Marston's  importance  did  not  deter  him  from  go 
ing  that  night  with  three  of  his  fellow-waiters  to 
sing  for  that  gentleman.  Two  of  the  quartet  in 
sisted  upon  singing  fine  music,  in  order  to  show 
their  capabilities,  but  Silas  had  received  his  cue, 
and  held  out  for  the  old  songs.  Silas  Jackson's 
tenor  voice  rang  out  in  the  old  plantation  melodies 
with  the  force  and  feeling  that  old  memories 
give.  The  concert  was  a  great  success,  and 
when  Marston  pressed  a  generous-sized  bank 
note  into  his  hand  that  night,  he  whispered, 
"Well,  I'm  glad  there's  one  thing  you  haven't 
lost,  and  that's  your  voice." 

That  was  the  beginning  of  Silas's  supremacy  as 
manager  and  first  tenor  of  the  Fountain  Hotel 
Quartet,  and  he  flourished  in  that  capacity  for 
two  years  longer  ;  then  came  Mr.  J.  Robinson 
Frye,  looking  for  talent,  and  Silas,  by  reason  of 
his  prominence,  fell  in  this  way. 

Mr.  J.  Robinson  Frye  was  an  educated  and  en 
thusiastic  young  mulatto  gentleman,  who,  hav 
ing  studied  music  abroad,  had  made  art  his  mis 
tress.  As  well  as  he  was  able,  he  wore  the  shock 
of  hair  which  was  the  sign  manual  of  his  profes 
sion.  He  was  a  plausible  young  man  of  large 


SILAS   JACKSON  357 

ideas,  and  had  composed  some  things  of  which 
the  critics  had  spoken  well.  But  the  chief  trouble 
with  his  work  was  that  his  one  aim  was  money. 
He  did  not  love  the  people  among  whom  Ameri 
can  custom  had  placed  him,  but  he  had  respect 
for  their  musical  ability. 

"Why,"  he  used  to  exclaim  in  the  sudden 
bursts  of  enthusiasm  to  which  he  was  subject, 
"why,  these  people  are  the  greatest  singers  on 
earth.  They've  got  more  emotion  and  more  pas 
sion  than  any  other  people,  and  they  learn  easier. 
I  could  take  a  chorus  of  forty  of  them,  and  with 
two  months'  training  make  them  sing  the  roof  off 
the  Metropolitan  Opera  house." 

When  Mr.  Frye  was  in  New  York,  he  might 
be  seen  almost  any  day  at  the  piano  of  one  or  the 
other  of  the  negro  clubs,  either  working  at  some 
new  inspiration,  or  playing  one  of  his  own  com 
positions,  and  all  black  clubdom  looked  on  him 
as  a  genius. 

His  latest  scheme  was  the  training  of  a  colored 
company  which  should  do  a  year's  general  sing 
ing  throughout  the  country,  and  then  having  ac 
quired  poise  and  a  reputation,  produce  his  own 
opera. 

It  was  for  this  he  wanted  Silas,  and  in  spite  of 


358  SILAS  JACKSON 

the  warning  and  protests  of  friends,  Silas  went 
with  him  to  New  York,  for  he  saw  his  future 
loom  large  before  him. 

The  great  city  frightened  him  at  first,  but  he 
found  there  some,  like  himself,  drawn  from  the 
smaller  towns  of  the  South.  Others  in  the  com 
pany  were  the  relics  of  the  old  days  of  negro 
minstrelsy,  and  still  others  recruited  from  the 
church  choirs  in  the  large  cities.  Silas  was  an 
adaptable  fellow,  but  it  seemed  a  little  hard  to 
fall  in  with  the  ways  of  his  new  associates.  Most 
of  them  seemed  as  far  away  from  him  in  their 
knowledge  of  worldly  things  as  had  the  waiters 
at  the  Springs  a  few  years  before.  He  was  half 
afraid  of  the  chorus  girls,  because  they  seemed 
such  different  beings  from  the  nurse  girls  down 
home.  However,  there  was  little  time  for  mop 
ing  or  regrets.  Mr.  Frye  was,  it  must  be  said,  an 
indefatigable  worker.  They  were  rehearsing 
every  day.  Silas  felt  himself  learning  to  sing. 
Meanwhile,  he  knew  that  he  was  learning  other 
things — a  few  more  elegancies  and  vices.  He 
looked  upon  the  "  rounders"  with  admiration  and 
determined  to  be  one.  So,  after  rehearsals  were 
over  other  occupations  held  him.  He  came  to  be 
known  at  the  clubs  and  was  quite  proud  of  it, 


SILAS   JACKSON  359 

and  he  grew  bolder  with  the  chorus  girls,  be 
cause  he  was  to  be  a  star. 

After  three  weeks  of  training,  the  company 
opened,  and  Silas,  who  had  never  sung  anything 
heavier  than  "Bright  Sparkles  in  the  Church 
yard,"  was  dressed  in  a  Fauntleroy  suit,  and  put 
on  to  sing  in  a  scene  from  "  Rigoletto." 

Every  night  he  was  applauded  to  the  echo  by 
"the  unskilful,"  until  he  came  to  believe  himself 
a  great  singer.  This  belief  was  strengthened 
when  the  girl  who  performed  the  Spanish  dance 
bestowed  her  affections  upon  him.  He  was  very 
happy  and  very  vain,  and  for  the  first  time  he 
forgot  the  people  down  in  a  little  old  Virginia 
cabin.  In  fact,  he  had  other  uses  for  his 
money. 

For  the  rest  of  the  season,  either  on  the  road  or 
in  and  about  New  York,  he  sang  steadily.  Most 
of  the  things  for  which  he  had  longed  and  had 
striven  had  come  to  him.  He  was  known  as  a 
rounder,  his  highest  ambition.  His  waistcoats 
were  the  loudest  to  be  had.  He  was  possessed 
of  a  factitious  ease  and  self-possession  that  was 
almost  aggression.  The  hot  breath  of  the  city 
had  touched  and  scorched  him,  and  had  dried  up 
within  him  whatever  was  good  and  fresh.  The 


}6o  SILAS  JACKSON 

pity  of  it  was  that  he  was  proud  of  himself,  and 
utterly  unconscious  of  his  own  degradation.  He 
looked  upon  himself  as  a  man  of  the  world,  a 
fine  product  of  the  large  opportunities  of  a  great 
city. 

Once  in  those  days  he  heard  of  Smith,  his  old- 
time  companion  at  the  Springs.  He  was  teach 
ing  at  some  small  place  in  the  South.  Silas 
laughed  contemptuously  when  he  heard  how  his 
old  friend  was  employed.  "Poor  fellow,"  he 
said,  "  what  a  pity  he  didn't  come  up  here, 
and  make  something  out  of  himself,  instead  of 
starving  down  there  on  little  or  nothing," 
and  he  mused  on  how  much  better  his  fate  had 
been. 

The  season  ended.  After  a  brief  period  of 
rest,  the  rehearsals  for  Frye's  opera  were  begun. 
Silas  confessed  to  himself  that  he  was  tired  ;  he 
had  a  cough,  too,  but  Mr.  Frye  was  still  enthusi 
astic,  and  this  was  to  be  the  great  triumph,  both 
for  the  composer  and  the  tenor. 

"Why,  I  tell  you,  man, "said  Frye,  "it's going 
to  be  the  greatest  success  of  the  year.  I  am  the 
only  man  who  has  ever  put  grand-opera  effects 
into  comic  opera  with  success.  Just  listen  to  the 
chords  of  this  opening  chorus."  And  so  he  in- 


SILAS  JACKSON  361 

spired  the  singer  with  some  of  his  own  spirit. 
They  went  to  work  with  a  will.  Silas  might 
have  been  reluctant  as  he  felt  the  strain  upon  him 
grow,  but  that  he  had  spent  all  his  money,  and 
Frye,  as  he  expressed  it,  was  "putting  up  for 
him,"  until  the  opening  of  the  season. 

Then  one  day  he  was  taken  sick,  and  although 
Frye  fumed,  the  rehearsals  had  to  go  on  without 
him.  For  awhile  his  companions  came  to  see 
him,  and  then  they  gradually  ceased  to  come.  So 
he  lay  for  two  months.  Even  Sadie,  his  dancing 
sweetheart,  seemed  to  have  forgotten  him.  One 
day  he  sent  for  her,  but  the  messenger  returned 
to  say  she  could  not  come,  she  was  busy.  She 
had  married  the  man  with  whom  she  did  a  turn 
at  the  roof-garden.  The  news  came,  too,  that  the 
opera  had  been  abanboned,  and  that  Mr.  Frye  had 
taken  out  a  company  with  a  new  tenor,  whom 
he  pronounced  far  superior  to  the  former  one. 

Silas  gazed  blankly  at  the  wall.  The  hollow- 
ness  of  his  life  all  came  suddenly  before  him.  All 
his  false  ideals  crumbled,  and  he  lay  there  with 
nothing  to  hope  for.  Then  came  back  the  yearn 
ings  for  home,  for  the  cabin  and  the  fields,  and 
there  was  no  disgust  in  his  memory  of  them. 

When   his  strength  partly   returned,   he  sold 


362  SILAS  JACKSON 

some  of  the  few  things  that  remained  to  him 
from  his  prosperous  days,  and  with  the  money 
purchased  a  ticket  for  home;  then  spent,  broken, 
hopeless,  all  contentment  and  simplicity  gone,  he 
turned  his  face  toward  his  native  fields. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


;r,;.'.  .     , 

opc'D  LD 

JUL2  M994 


9     '      '•'•     ° 

^ 

~ 

' 

BEC^Ii.      J*'1 

'J'n  DEC  2  3  1993 

LD  21A-40m-4,'63- 
(D6471slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


GENERAL  LIBRARY  -  U.C.  BERKELEY 


972976 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


